Caffrey Flashback
by penna.nomen
Summary: When Neal takes an undercover assignment Peter thinks is too risky, Neal is hurt physically and emotionally. Then they learn the people arrested were just the tip of the iceberg. Caffrey Conversation AU set in 2004, where Neal was never arrested. Friendship, family, Paternal!Peter, El, Mozzie, June & Byron, Hughes Warning: memories of childhood abuse & angsty hospital scenes.
1. Chapter 1 - Invitation

_A/N: Although this story is part of a series, I want it to stand on its own. Therefore the first two chapters, in addition to introducing the case they need to solve, will also recap where Neal stands in the FBI and in his relationship to other characters. _

_White Collar and its characters are not mine. _

**Chapter 1: Invitation**

**New York City, White Collar Division. Monday morning. February 16, 2004. **

As the morning briefing wrapped up, Agent Tricia Wiese mentioned it was Peter Burke's two-month anniversary as leader of the White Collar Task Force. Peter reminded them it was also Neal Caffrey's two-month anniversary as a consultant at the FBI. It was a good thing they liked each other, Neal realized, because if things worked out they would be celebrating these milestones together for a long time.

Many things had remained constant over the last two months. The coffee was still horrendous. Agent August Hitchum still hated Neal. Surveillance work was still tedious, and mortgage fraud cases were still the most boring thing ever invented.

But some things had changed for the better. Other than Hitchum, the team members had started to relax around Neal. They felt safe leaving their purses and wallets at their desks when he was around. They were willing to talk about vacation plans around him, without fear that he would burgle their homes as soon as they left town. And now Peter was making another show of trust. He had dismissed everyone from the briefing except for Neal and Jones and said, "Neal, after you traded your confession for immunity, I asked Jones to monitor the email addresses belonging to aliases. Now he's going to turn that task over to you."

Neal responded with an innocent smile he knew would annoy Peter. "You want to pay me to check my personal email?"

Peter didn't roll his eyes, but Neal thought it took some effort. "I want you to let us know if anyone contacts one of your old aliases for illegal or suspicious purposes. This week, Jones will check those accounts with you and walk you through what he's been doing. As of next week, it will be up to you to tell us if you're getting messages we need to know about."

Neal had suspected almost from the beginning that Peter had assigned Jones to monitor him, but this was the first time Peter had admitted it. Even though Neal was certain Jones was checking up on him in other ways, it was satisfying to know that his good behavior recently was being noticed and rewarded. He hoped this would become a trend, because there were other restrictions he wanted to see lifted.

Peter went back to his office, while Jones and Neal remained in the conference room to check the email accounts. Steve Tabernacle typically received porn; Neal had made sure of it as an act of rebellion when he realized the FBI was checking his mail. Gary Rydell received offers from high-end car dealers, insurance companies, and international travel agencies.

"Nick Halden gets the most mail," Jones noted as they logged into that account.

"Five months of working for Vincent Adler under that name is the longest con I ever pulled. I made a lot of connections there before the company folded. Nick was a likable guy." A quick glance showed there were no messages from Kate. There hadn't been for quite a while, but he still had hope.

Jones opened a message from Highbury Professional Connections. "I've heard of these guys. It's the first time I've seen them express an interest in Halden."

"They sent an invitation right after Thanksgiving, but I ignored it," Neal said. "They sounded legit, but if you're interested in them, there must be something nefarious I wasn't aware of."

"Nothing we could prove. Last summer a woman reported her husband was being blackmailed by Highbury. We looked into it, saw that most members pay about 100 bucks per month for membership, but a few pay upwards of 1000."

"That's a big discrepancy. What did Highbury say they offer for the extra money?"

"They wouldn't tell us," Jones said. "Said it was an entirely legal set of enhanced professional services for job seekers and therefore none of our business. And no one paying the higher price would admit to being blackmailed. The fact is, a lot of people find good jobs through Highbury, which means the company isn't entirely a scam. In the end we had no evidence and no case. We had to let it go."

"You weren't happy about it."

"Hell, no. I'd interviewed a dozen different people who had joined Highbury recently. Each one mentioned an initiation event, and none of them could tell me what happened at that event. Sure, some were party guys who probably get wasted every weekend, but others said they rarely drink. What are the odds that all of them blacked out? I gotta think they were drugged."

"And then asked to reveal secrets that might lead to blackmail?" Neal asked.

"That was my theory. They blocked every attempt we made to get an FBI agent inside. I even tried to go undercover as a bartender at their retreat on Long Island, thinking I could catch them slipping something into the drinks. They wouldn't even interview me."

"The FBI is almost as good as I am when it comes to creating false identities. Highbury's background checks must be incredible to have kept you out. That in itself is suspicious." Neal reached for Jones' laptop. "Let's accept their invitation."

Jones slid the laptop out of Neal's reach. "Not so fast. You don't just jump into an undercover operation like that. We have to run this by Peter. If he approves, then we set up a plan, including surveillance. We take our time, do it right."

"You're starting to sound like Peter."

"I hope so. There's a reason he's in charge: he's good at this. And remember, Highbury eluded us last time. I want to catch them, and that isn't going to happen without a solid plan."

Neal suspected there was more to Jones' reluctance. Peter was still extremely cautious about letting Neal go undercover, and it was time to change that. "Ok. Peter's in his office. Let's talk to him about this, and get the ball rolling."

"Uh. You know, I should really go back and review my files on the original case, first."

Neal wasn't surprised that Jones was stalling. Based on prior experience, he thought Jones wanted to wait until Neal was busy with something else, and then would talk to Peter alone. Determined to have more of a say in his assignments, Neal said, "There's plenty of time for that once Peter's onboard. Anyway, it's obvious you remember the important parts. I'll bet you a cup of real, non-Bureau coffee that Peter remembers it, too." And before Jones could respond, Neal opened the connecting door to Peter's office. "Hey, we've got a bet here. Do you remember Highbury Professional Connections?"

Peter looked up. "Yeah, we thought they were blackmailing some of their clients. Why?"

"I'm going undercover to catch them in the act."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "The hell you are."

"After you help us plan it out, of course," Neal added. He took a seat in Peter's office. Jones followed, shrugging an apology to Peter.

"What exactly is going on here?" Peter asked.

Jones explained about the email inviting Nick Halden to join Highbury. "As many times as we were blocked trying to get inside, this is an incredible opportunity. I know this isn't the way you wanted to do it, Peter. But Neal's getting antsy and I'm not the only one on the team wondering why you're reluctant to send him undercover. His skills as a con artist make him perfect for this kind of assignment."

"Thanks, man," Neal said, surprised at the support. Then he turned to Peter. "Tell me what I need to do to make you trust that I can do this. You didn't bring me into the FBI to do desk work for the rest of my life, did you?"

"You're bored already?" Peter countered. "We've sent several complicated and high-profile cases your way, you know. And we've sent you into the field to do research. You aren't exactly chained to the desk."

The door opened behind Neal, but he went ahead and said, "No, I'm not bored. But I don't understand why you aren't using me to my full potential. It's frustrating, always working on the setup and then turning a case over to someone else to finish the job. It's like constantly being limited to foreplay and never –"

"Neal!" Peter interrupted.

"Have I come at a bad time?" asked Hughes drily.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter and Neal sat side by side in one of the smaller conference rooms. Hughes had escorted them there and then left them alone, saying he needed to grab a file from his desk.

"I probably shouldn't have said that last bit," Neal admitted.

"Oh, ya think? What got into you, Neal? You don't normally resort to crude analogies."

"I was trying to make the point that I'm an adult who feels like he's being treated like a kid."

"You managed to hit the middle ground. Very adolescent."

Neal sighed. "Sorry. But I don't understand what your plan is for me on the team. I thought I was supposed to be an equal, other than the lack of Quantico training, but it doesn't feel that way."

"You realize the adult thing to do in this scenario is to express your concerns and ask for an explanation? Preferably _before_ you're too frustrated to do so in a professional manner."

"I wanted to, but you've been avoiding me."

"I haven't been…" Peter paused and thought about the last few weeks from Neal's perspective. "Damn it. Corporate America and government bureaucracy are completely alien to you, aren't they? At the start of the fiscal year, managers spend the better part of a month on goals and financial planning. For us, that activity kicks off in mid-January. It's a non-stop round of meetings and spreadsheets."

"A whole month? Why? The role of the FBI and the White Collar Division doesn't change from year to year. And I thought you put together your budget in December."

"We submit our requested budget in December. Then in January we learn what we're actually getting and make adjustments. And the goals part is still in progress. Everyone on the team sets individual goals and gets evaluated against last year's goals. You're exempt from that until you've been here 90 days, and then we'll talk about your goals. So you're right. I haven't had a lot of time for you, and I have put off talking about my vision for your role in the team until you hit that 90-day milestone."

"There's something else you're..." This time Neal shut up when Hughes entered the room.

"Gentlemen," Hughes said as he took the chair opposite them. "I had set aside this time for Agent Burke's annual review. One of the questions I had for him was about how he's using you on his team, Caffrey. Since you were expressing an opinion on that topic already, I decided to bring you in and cover that first. You don't think you're being used to your full potential. How do you think we should be using you?"

"I want to spend more time working in the field, especially doing undercover work. I've shown I'm good at it. It seems like Peter is reluctant to let me do that, and I get it." Neal turned to face Peter. "I do get it, Peter. That trip to the hospital on New Year's Eve isn't something I want to repeat. The paperwork alone taught me I don't want to take that kind of chance lightly. And I thought about what you said after Lucas held me hostage at that dock. I will be more cautious."

Annual reviews were never fun, and this one had _excruciating_ written all over it. Peter considered what he could say in front of Hughes, because he had left a few things out of his report about the incident at the dock. For instance, he hadn't mentioned that he'd overreacted and threatened to fire Neal, because he had started thinking of Neal as a son and couldn't handle seeing someone pointing a gun at his son's head. And maybe Neal had a point about the avoidance. Peter may have used his new managerial responsibilities as an excuse to create distance from the uncomfortable emotions he had experienced in January. "You mentioned earlier that I treat you like a kid. The fact is, several of us think of you as a kid, because you are the youngest member of the team. The next youngest is Jones, and even he's a couple of years older than you are. But that's not the only factor. Throughout my career, I've heard managers say they think of their team as their children. Now that I'm in that position, I feel responsibility for the success and well being of everyone on my team, and you… You're the youngest, and the only member of the team I personally recruited to the FBI. So, yeah, I probably am more protective of you. And the fact is, knowing that you grew up without a dad…" Peter trailed off and gathered his thoughts. "More than anyone else on the team, you _need_ a dad. Maybe more than you want one right now."

"I…" Neal started, and then glanced at Hughes.

Peter crossed his arms and felt a little smug. It was Neal who had started this whole thing back in December, calling Peter "Dad" as a joke. Now it seemed like Neal wanted a dad, as long as that dad could be twisted around his finger. _Let's see him explain that to Hughes._

"I've learned a lot working for you, already," Neal finally said. "Let me show you. I want to work the Highbury case, using their invitation to my Nick Halden alias as an opportunity to go undercover as a client. I'm your best shot at finding out what they're doing, and then bringing them down."

"And speaking as your manager, I don't think that's a good idea," Peter replied. But he had to admire Neal's approach. Hughes would be intrigued by the Highbury reference.

"I didn't know you had a new lead on Highbury," Hughes said. "After our experience last time, why would you turn down an opportunity to send a team member inside?"

"The problem with using Neal is that we suspected Highbury of drugging their clients. I've seen Neal drugged on two occasions; both times, he had a flashback to being abused as a child. Because you refuse to seek therapy, Neal, I have to keep you out of any situation I think may cause another flashback. It's too risky to send you into Highbury, because there's a good chance you'll blow your cover."

"Does the invitation from Highbury expire anytime soon?" Hughes asked.

"I don't believe so," Neal said.

"Well, then the obvious compromise is to send you to therapy first, and then send you undercover when the therapist says you're ready. Now get out of here, Caffrey, and let me give Peter his review."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Back at his desk, Neal searched the FBI employees' site for information about performance reviews. He kept reading with increasing dread. Around noon, Jones pulled his attention away from the website. "Skipping lunch, Caffrey?"

Neal gestured toward his computer screen. "You really do all of this stuff?"

Jones looked over his shoulder. "Yeah. Your turn will come soon enough. What's the problem? This is right up your alley. You start the year describing the amazing work you're going to do, and end the year bragging about how you did it all. Sounds like a breeze for a con artist."

"I conned _people_. I need to interact with them, hear their voices, see their expressions, and adjust. This is… forms and paper. I can't con a piece of paper."

"Never engaged in mail fraud, huh? Well, it's no big deal. Agent Burke likes you. That makes a huge difference."

"Yeah." Neal grabbed his coat and spent most of his lunch break walking and thinking.

The paperwork aspect of the FBI was annoying, but manageable. What really bothered him was Peter.

Two months ago it had seemed like a terrific idea to work for the man who embodied everything he'd wanted in a father figure. Peter was honest, loyal, dependable, and he genuinely wanted to help Neal. As Jones had said, Peter liked Neal. More than liked, honestly. A month ago, when Peter called him _Son_, it had been one of the most shocking and happy moments of Neal's life.

He hadn't thought about the implications of that moment for his job. If he had thought it through, he'd have guessed that if Peter couldn't be entirely objective about him, that was good. It meant the boss would cut him a little more slack.

Clearly Neal hadn't considered the other side of the equation. Peter the boss was too restrictive, because Peter the father figure worried. To make it worse, now Peter had Hughes' support in making Neal go to therapy. The last thing Neal wanted was to talk to a stranger about the dark areas of his childhood, and to have a summary placed in his FBI file for Peter and any other manager in the Bureau to read. But there was no way around it.

Unless… Neal came to a stop in front of a coffee shop. Finally noticing that he was cold and hungry, he darted inside for cappuccino and a bagel. And he smiled as he waited in line, because he knew how to get around the therapist mandate.

With a little help from Henry, he'd be undercover at Highbury in no time.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**_. _

At home Monday evening, Peter was aware that he'd spent most of the meal complaining about his day at work, while avoiding his biggest concern. He looked across the table at his wife and finally told her, "Hughes asked if I can be objective when it comes to Neal."

"Good question. Can you?"

"I have to be. It's too soon for any other team in the Bureau to take him on. My team is just barely starting to accept him after a lot of effort on my part. A new team lead would see him as a risk, and ignore his potential. He's brilliant and creative and willing to use his skills in committing crimes to help us solve cases. More than that, he needs this job, El. It will turn his life around. But if I say I can't handle being his boss, then he'll have no other option than to return to a life of crime. One day I'd end up arresting him."

Elizabeth started picking up dishes to carry into the kitchen. "What did you tell Hughes?"

Peter followed her lead, helping to clear the table. "I said I could make it work, but I can tell he has doubts. He told me I can keep Neal on my team, contingent on getting Neal to talk to a therapist in the next four weeks. If I let him avoid that, Hughes will offer him to another team. And if there are no takers, then Neal will be let go."

"I'm sure you can do it, hon. You'll convince Neal that seeing a therapist is the right thing to do."

"I wish I could shake the feeling that he's already working on a way to avoid it."

They finished loading the dishwasher, and settled on the living room sofa. Peter watched a basketball game, and El was reading, but he could tell her mind was elsewhere. At a commercial break she muted the TV and said, "You said you'd learned a lot about Neal in the year he was on the FBI's radar, and you've learned even more since he started working for you. You're worried he's looking for a way to avoid a therapist. Why don't you figure out how he'll do it, and stop him?"

"You mean I should think like an FBI agent, instead of a manager. Ok. We start with his motivation. Neal wants to work on the Highbury case. Hughes made therapy a condition for that. Or specifically, clearance from a therapist. Neal will see that as an obstacle to overcome. Either he has to change Hughes' mind about that condition, or he has to convince us that a therapist has cleared him. He could forge a statement from a therapist, but he has to know we'd follow up. It's more likely he'd look for a licensed, respected therapist he could manipulate somehow…" Peter kissed his wife and then jumped up. "I need to call Henry and talk him out of whatever cockamamie scheme Neal has in mind."

_A/N: My descriptions of budgets, goals and annual reviews are based on my experience in massive corporations. I assume a government agency like the FBI has to be at least as bad._

_If you want to catch up on the other stories in this AU, they are: Caffrey Conversation (Peter recruits Neal), Choirboy Caffrey (a holiday-themed story, with Neal preparing to work for the FBI), By the Book (Neal's first undercover assignment at the FBI), Caffrey Envoy (a shorter story where Neal meets a former babysitter and is reminded of his childhood exploits)_

_Many thanks to Silbrith for editing and for her astounding patience as I droned on about what I want to accomplish._

_And a moment of silence now in memory of James Rebhorn, the actor who portrayed Reese Hughes to perfection. _


	2. Chapter 2 - Two-Mile Radius

A/N: potential spoilers for Season 4.

**Chapter 2: Two-Mile Radius**

**New York, Neal's apartment. Monday evening. February 16, 2004. **

He wouldn't admit it to Peter, who had a penchant for saying "I told you so," but Neal liked the stability of a long-term legal job. While the FBI work still wasn't as exciting as he had hoped, it left him with time and energy to channel his creativity after hours. The last few weeks he'd been painting.

He hadn't yet discovered what his own style was, but he liked exploring who he was as an artist, and the pieces he produced served as an outlet for his emotions. In the corner of his apartment in the Ellingtons' mansion was a dark rendering of the building's exterior, inspired by sorrow over Byron's increasingly poor health. Beside that painting was a pale, ghostly depiction of Kate, who seemed determined to fade out of his life. On the easel was an abstract he'd started over the weekend, expressing his fears and hopes about the interest his mother's relatives had expressed in reconnecting with him, now that he was out of WITSEC.

He hadn't been able to finish that painting because he realized he had to respond to their overtures, first. Funny how people often described him as impetuous, but on certain occasions he found himself frozen, unable to make a decision. Now circumstances took the decision out of his hands.

He'd left a voicemail for Henry that afternoon, describing what he wanted. An hour later he'd received a text, telling him to call at 7:30pm. It was 7:30 now, and he'd barely said _hello_ before Henry jumped into the heart of the matter. "You're crazy."

"I think you mean traumatized," Neal corrected, "but with the situation well under control."

"Right. If the situation is under control, why do you think you need to buy the diagnosis you want?"

"Oh, I'm not trying to buy a diagnosis. I couldn't afford that on my salary these days. I'm looking for a trade."

Henry groaned. The sound echoed.

"Why are you on speaker?" Neal asked.

"The cast doesn't get removed until next week. Until then I can't hold the phone in one hand and take notes with the other."

Neal vividly remembered the night Henry broke his arm. It was the same night Lucas had held him hostage, and Henry and Peter had come to his rescue. Afterwards Peter threatened to fire him, and Neal really had gone a little crazy. "Yeah, about when you broke your arm… Peter guessed what I had planned, and I told him you might have been there to stop me from stealing the truck, instead of being there to help hotwire it." There was silence in response, but Neal could picture his dark-haired 27-year-old cousin considering the options before he responded. Henry's smile and hazel eyes would be hinting at secrets. "Were you planning to stop me?" Neal asked.

"Did you want me to stop you?"

These were the kind of circuitous conversations you had when your best friend had a master's degree in psychology and had based most of his thesis on your experiences as a con artist. "I'm not going down that rabbit hole with you tonight. Look, you want me to agree to a reunion with the rest of the family. I'm willing to do that in return for a statement from a psychologist that I'm able to go undercover without risk of incurring flashbacks."

"Peter knows that I'm not a practicing psychologist, and when I met him I told him I'm too close to you to be your therapist."

"I realize that."

"Then what, exactly, are you asking me to do for you?"

Neal bit his lip briefly in a sign of trepidation that he was glad Henry couldn't see. "I want your mother to write the statement. I know a relative as close as an aunt would normally be considered too close. But since I haven't seen her since I was three, and have only talked to her once between now and then, that shouldn't be a problem."

"You know she isn't blindly going to write a note that you're ok. She'll insist on talking to you. I'll insist on it, too. It's time you got help."

Neal wasn't surprised, even if he had hoped to get away without actual therapy. "If she'll write the statement after the first session, I promise I'll continue talking to her."

"At least once a week," Henry insisted. "If you skip even one session, she rescinds her recommendation that you can work undercover."

Bargaining with your oldest friend could be a pain in the ass sometimes. Henry knew him too well. "Ok. I'll do it."

"I'm so glad, sweetie." That wasn't Henry's voice. It sounded exactly like Neal's mom, which meant it was her twin sister, Noelle – Henry's mother. She was a professor of psychology in Baltimore, and occasionally took clients.

Neal swallowed. He'd never felt so afraid of a fundamentally nice person. "Mrs. Winslow. I didn't know you were there. Hello."

"You know how Henry is. He loves surprises, especially at someone else's expense. Will you please call me _Noelle_?"

"Yes, ma'am. I mean, Noelle. I'm sorry, it's just that you sound so much like Mom…"

"Of course, that must seem odd for you. You can call me whatever makes you comfortable. We'll set a schedule for our sessions, but first I'm dying to ask: why me? The FBI must have resources, not to mention the many psychologists available to you in New York."

Henry snorted. "Isn't it obvious? He doesn't want the things his therapist learns to go into his FBI file."

"Hush, Henry. I didn't ask you, and you know better than to interrupt. Make yourself useful and find my calendar. It's in my bag. Neal?"

Neal nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "He's right. And beyond that, the stuff I need to talk about happened when I was in WITSEC. If the wrong person got their hands on your notes, it might be used to track down my mom. I know you won't betray her."

"Oh, sweetheart," Noelle said.

"Stop right there," Henry said. "No mushy stuff. He's your client now. In fact, we need to postpone the family reunion until he's far enough into the therapy that it wouldn't change the balance of your relationship."

"It's times like these, when you sound exactly like your father, that I remember why I divorced him."

Neal tried to muffle the sound of his laughter.

"It's fine to laugh, Neal. A sense of humor is healthy. Now I realize it won't be practical to meet in person every week, but I'd like to start out face-to-face. As I recall, you had concerns about coming to Baltimore?"

"Robert would have a fit," Neal said, mentioning Noelle's ex-husband. Henry had introduced Neal to Robert three years ago. Convinced that Neal was "a no-good criminal like his old man," Robert had tricked Neal into committing a crime and then kept the evidence. He'd used that evidence to blackmail Neal, saying he'd share the evidence with the police unless Neal dropped out of Henry's life. Henry wouldn't let that happen altogether, but Neal had stopped traveling with his cousin and moved to New York. Even with immunity from the FBI, Neal was concerned about the lengths Robert would go to if he learned Neal was hanging around Henry and Noelle in Baltimore. And Robert would learn. His company had access to more resources than the FBI did.

"I'll go up to New York for a session this weekend, and then we'll take it from there," Noelle said.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter called Henry, Neal's cousin sounded surprised but pleased to hear from him.

"How's your arm?" Peter asked, aware that he should adhere to the niceties before demanding that Henry help bring Neal to his senses.

"Healing nicely. I have an appointment to have the cast removed next week."

"That's great. You know, Neal told me you were trying to stop him from stealing the truck. I'm not sure I believe it."

"A little mystery is fun isn't it? Especially when you're an FBI agent."

"Or when you're the heir apparent of a major private investigation and security company like Winston-Winslow."

"Has the FBI officially asked you to befriend me to learn what Win-Win is up to?"

"Officially, no. Unofficially is a whole other matter. But tonight I'm calling about Neal. Remember how you said we had a few weeks, maybe months if we're lucky, before his flashbacks make a return? It's been five weeks now. He wants to go undercover at a place we think is drugging their clients, and I'm concerned. We've said he can't participate until he gets clearance from a therapist, and you know a lot of psychologists."

"You think he's asked me to find a psychologist willing to give him a free pass?"

"Has he?"

"Don't worry, Peter. I have everything handled. If Neal needs to believe he's taking a short cut before he'll agree to therapy, there's nothing wrong with that, is there? As long as he gets what he needs."

"You promise he'll get real therapy, from a reputable psychologist?"

"He's going to see my mother. She won't let him get away with anything."

"Whoa." Peter's one conversation with Noelle Winslow had convinced him she was a force to be reckoned with. She'd have to be, as Henry's mother. "You're not messing around."

"He's my best friend. I'm not taking any chances with him. Now, is Elizabeth there? I'd planned to call her tomorrow, but tonight works if she's available."

"Um. Yeah. Hold on." Peter walked back to the sofa. "Hon, Henry wants to talk to you."

El's eyes widened in surprise. She shrugged, and took the phone. "Yes?"

Peter sat down, watching the basketball game in silence and trying not to eavesdrop.

A few minutes later Elizabeth ended the call and placed the phone on the coffee table. "You know how I've been talking about opening my own company?"

"Yeah, you've been calling it Burke Premiere Events. Classy name."

"When Henry was here, I mentioned it while we were making coffee. I told him it's scary to take the leap from having a full-time job at the gallery to being my own boss. Now he's suggesting a trial run. One event for a friendly client, where I'll arrange everything and see if it's something I really want to do for a living."

Peter forced himself to maintain a relaxed posture. But given the decades of animosity between the FBI and Winston-Winslow, he worried about his wife getting caught in the middle. "What's the event?"

"A surprise birthday party for Neal. A small but upscale event with family members traveling here from Washington DC and Baltimore. Did you know Neal's grandfather is an ambassador?"

"Yeah, I think he's retired. That sounds nice. Do you want to do it?"

"I do, but I'm worried about the timeframe. March 7th is right around the corner."

Peter stopped slouching in the sofa and sat up straight to face Elizabeth. "The 7th? Neal's birthday is the 21st of March."

"Then a party on the 7th will really be a surprise."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Every Tuesday someone from the White Collar division tailed Neal over the lunch hour.

It had started as a daily practice, the result of the team not trusting the former criminal Peter had recruited. But as they got used to him, the practice transformed into a weekly training ritual. During the Wednesday briefings Neal and that week's tail reported on what they had seen and done the previous day, and the team's skills at following suspects had increased as a result.

They never told Neal in advance who would be the tail. He figured it out when he spotted someone following him. And sometimes he figured it out earlier, based on the behavior of the team in the morning. Based on what he was observing today, Neal thought they were going to try something new. As usual for a Tuesday, they had wrapped up the morning briefing and sent Neal back down to his desk while they decided who he would elude this week. Watching the discussion taking place in the glass-walled conference room, Neal noticed Jones' teasing expression as he said something, after which Peter looked surprised and the team laughed. Then Peter nodded.

Neal suspected that Jones had challenged Peter to take a turn. And already Neal was considering how to elude the boss. Up to this point Neal had withheld certain tricks, just in case he really needed to elude the FBI someday. But he was tempted to use some of those tricks today. Things always got more competitive when Peter was involved.

Even as Neal wondered if Mozz could help him stow base jumping gear on a skyscraper before noon, Neal's cell phone vibrated, and he recognized one of Mozzie's numbers. "What's up?" Neal asked.

"I've received a message from Kate. She wants to meet you today, at noon. I'm supposed to tell her the location. Do you want to use Friday?"

The safe house Mozz had named Friday would normally be an ideal location for a meeting, but not on a Tuesday. "Thanks for the offer, but I can't go that far. I have a two-mile radius today." After a spectacular chase scene with taxis two weeks ago, Peter declared the Tuesday tails had to remain on foot and could go no farther than two miles from the Federal Building.

"What?" Mozz didn't know about that latest restriction.

"Never mind." The team was leaving the conference room. Neal had to pick a location before they came downstairs and overheard this conversation. He named a café about six blocks from the office and said he'd be there at 12:15.

After he ended the call, Neal couldn't stop thinking about Kate. He was grateful she was finally willing to talk to him. He shouldn't question his good fortune. And yet, he couldn't stop wondering: what did Kate want? And would it cost him his deal with the FBI?

_ A/N: Many thanks to Silbrith for editing and support during an insanely busy week. She has great suggestions, and I look forward to when she starts posting her own work._

___As a scheduling note, I plan to post new chapters on Sunday evenings, Pacific time._


	3. Chapter 3 - Tuesday Tail

_A/N: spoilers for the episode "Forging Bonds" and episodes featuring Vincent Adler._

**Chapter 3: Tuesday Tail  
**

**New York, White Collar Division. Tuesday morning. February 17, 2004. **

"It's nearly noon. We'd better get started," Peter said as he stopped at Neal's desk.

Neal grinned as he stood and pulled on his coat. "I thought you'd at least pretend you weren't following me," he said as they walked toward the elevator.

"Like you were going to pretend you didn't know I was this week's Tuesday Tail?"

"It's all part of the game," Neal said as they stepped onto the elevator.

Peter pressed the button for the ground floor, and tapped his hand impatiently against his leg as the elevator stopped several times on the way down. When they finally reached the lobby he said, "That's one of the differences between you and me, Neal. This is work. It's our job. I take it seriously, and you call it a game."

"This is your lunch break, Peter. Tuesday Tails is like recess for grown-ups. It's about running around and being creative. Of course it's a game. Think of it like this: is tailing me part of your 2004 objectives? Do you have a goal that says you'll successfully track me at least 50% of the time?" They approached the exterior doors. Neal reached the door first, and held it open.

Peter stepped outside, about to say that no, it wasn't in his goals, and if it were he'd be shooting for much higher than 50%. He looked back, aware of a stream of people pouring through the exit. Neal had lost himself among them. Peter had to smile and say, "He's good," before spotting his consultant in the crowd, heading east.

For the next ten minutes it was an evenly matched game of cat and mouse. The fact that Neal continued to head east made Peter think his consultant wasn't simply dodging him. Neal had a destination in mind. Shortly after 12:10 Peter lost sight of Neal, but turned east, expecting to find him again in the next block. As he was passing by an alleyway he heard Neal's voice. "Peter, over here."

Peter stepped into the alley and let his eyes adjust to the shadows. "Did you forget who's chasing who?"

"At the moment, I'm chasing Kate. She's in the café across the street, second booth from the window. See her?"

"Yeah. I think you'd better tell me what's going on."

"I got a message this morning that she wants to meet. I don't know what she wants, but I doubt it's as simple as a reconciliation. She was avoiding me before I came to work for you, and she knows I'm with the Feds now. If she wants to talk to me anyway, she must be desperate."

"Oh, God. And that makes you desperate."

"Possibly. I don't think she'll recognize you. You should be able to go into the café, take the booth behind her, and listen in."

"And keep you from doing something stupid?"

"Yeah." Neal looked at Peter. "I mean, no. Just hear her out. See if we can make her a deal, like the one I have."

"Neal." Peter put a hand on Neal's shoulder to get his attention. He removed his hand when Neal was facing him. "I know you want her to get immunity, too. But you have to understand how rare that is. Remember, I was listening when you talked to her at the Sinclair house New Year's Eve. She wasn't interested in a deal like yours then, and it's unlikely that she changed her mind."

"But she could have. Or I could talk her into it now. I just need a little time to persuade her." Neal sounded desperate already, which did not bode well.

"Don't get your hopes up." Peter hated to mention it, but he needed to remind Neal. "I can give you time to try to persuade her, but you realize I should arrest her. She broke into the Sinclair home during our op there, cracked a safe and stole cash, jewelry and papers."

"Um." Neal stared at the ground.

"Neal?"

"She didn't crack the safe. I did." Neal looked up, his blue eyes wide and pleading. "She refused to leave without cracking the safe, but she's not very good at it. It was taking forever, remember? And I had to get back to the party before someone missed me. There wasn't time to call you and ask for suggestions. My job that night was to talk to Collins without making anyone suspicious, and having an inept cat burglar set off alarms or simply get caught by the homeowners would have been a problem. I needed to get her out of there, so I opened the safe for her. But I did tell her that the FBI was on the grounds and she should surrender."

"Yeah, you did." Peter sighed. With a one-way connection to the FBI surveillance team, Neal had told them where Kate was headed and they were able to retrieve everything she had taken, although she had pulled a gun on Jones and gotten away. He wished now they had made it a higher priority to find and arrest her. "I need to think this through, Neal. You know we didn't have a warrant yet when we sent you into that party. There's a possibility that I'll have to arrest you for what you just confessed here."

"Just let me talk to Kate, first."

"Fine. I can't arrest anyone now. Not until I have a chance to consider all the legal ramifications of what happened that night." Peter turned and rather abruptly headed toward the café. His mind was awash with conflicting thoughts and emotions. He was disappointed Neal had cracked the safe, but pleased he'd let Peter know about Kate's request to meet today. The fact that Neal realized he needed help dealing with her was encouraging. The fact that he'd only admitted to illegal activity because he wanted to protect Kate was an issue; it would have been easier to dismiss the safe cracking incident as an expediency in the midst of an op if they had known about it immediately. Six weeks later there would always be the question of whether Neal had kept or intended to keep anything he'd found in that safe for his own personal gain. Peter barely acknowledged the waitress who handed him a menu as he slid into the booth. He asked for water and a deviled ham sandwich, and waited for Neal to arrive.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal's first reaction on seeing Kate again was that she was still astoundingly beautiful, a brunette angel who would have inspired any artist to try capturing her luminous face. He slid into the red vinyl booth in the retro café and simply stared at her for a moment before saying, "I've missed you more than you can imagine."

"We were good together, but it's over, Neal."

"I know you were upset about the way I asked you to come to Copenhagen. I honestly was trying to romance you, not con you. Yes, I was planning to break into the palace, but the most important part of the trip in my mind was seeing the wonders of Europe with you. I get why you were unhappy about the way I approached it, though. I'll be more straightforward from now on."

"Neal Caffrey _straightforward_? You always complicate things. It's part of what made you fun. Before you were a Fed."

"Did you think over what I said on New Year's?"

"About giving myself up, confessing all, and becoming a law-abiding citizen? That's not going to happen. That's how I know it's over. We're on completely different paths." Kate paused as the waitress took Neal's order for a club sandwich, and then said, "Unless you change _your_ mind. Tell me you don't miss it. The challenge, the excitement. Does the paperwork at the FBI give you that same rush?"

One assignment, on New Year's Eve, had given him the same kind of rush he'd gotten on major cons and heists. And he'd gotten close to it again on the occasions Peter let him do field work. He had a strong feeling the Highbury assignment would give him what he craved. "You'd be surprised," he said.

"Prove to me you made the right choice, and I'll consider changing sides," Kate offered.

"Seriously?"

"Do one more job with me. If you can walk away from it after that, I'll believe you're really meant to work for the FBI. And if that's true, maybe I will reconsider."

Neal took a sip of coffee. A moment ago it had tasted good, but now it was bitter. "That's the only reason you wanted to talk to me. Because there's a job you can't handle on your own. What is it?"

"Tell me you're in, first."

Part of him wanted to say that he would do anything for Kate. Another part of him knew this was why he'd invited Peter along: to remind him not to throw away everything Peter had helped him gain. "If I would jump sides that easily, then we'd already know I wasn't meant to work for the FBI."

Kate started to slide out of the booth. Neal grabbed her arm. She shook her head. "I told you it's over, Neal. You work for the FBI, I work for Adler. We've picked opposite sides."

"Wait. Adler? No one's heard from him in almost a year. How are you working for him?"

"He sends a message describing an assignment and what he's willing to pay. I do the work or subcontract it, and when it's done I get the money. It's a lot of money, Neal, for a simple job. Think about it." She stood up, and pulled her wallet out of her purse. Tossing some cash on the table for her food, she said, "I mean it. Think about it, and meet me back here this evening. I'll be here when you leave the bland offices of the FBI."

Kate walked out as the waitress delivered Neal's sandwich. Moments later, Peter slid into the booth with his lunch. "What would Vincent Adler want so badly that he would risk repeated contact with a former employee?" he asked.

"I have no idea. And I don't understand why he'd pick Kate as his contact. If he wanted something illegal done, why didn't he pick me?"

"You're too obvious," Peter suggested. "You were already on the watch lists of several law enforcement agencies when you met him. Kate, on the other hand, seemed like a harmless girl with no criminal record at the time he disappeared. Plus, Kate has access to you. He knew you two were seeing each other, right?"

"Yeah, he knew." Neal wasn't hungry, but he started eating the sandwich anyway. He didn't want Peter to see how much the conversation with Kate had unsettled him.

"How tempted are you to help Kate by taking the job?"

Neal shrugged.

"I heard her throw that bone, about how she might be willing to switch sides if you do this for her. You're smart enough to know she doesn't mean it. She doesn't want to switch sides. Her loyalty is to the highest bidder, and that isn't going to be the FBI."

"I know. Just like I know you want me to take the job. It's the best lead you have on Adler."

Peter shook his head. "I want you to meet Kate this evening and learn more about the job, but that's it. No going undercover until you're cleared by a therapist, remember?"

"That's for the Highbury case, because you think they're drugging people. There's no reason to expect that with this job. And it isn't really undercover work. Kate and Adler already know who I am."

"No, they don't, Neal. They think you're a criminal who can be twisted to their will. That's not who you are now."

Neal pushed away the plate with the remaining half of his sandwich. "Keep reminding me of that. Most of the time I believe it, but today I'm having doubts."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter barely had time to sit down at his desk before Jones appeared in the entry to his office. "How was it?" Jones asked.

"Not what I expected."

Jones grinned. "You lose him?"

"No. Ten minutes into it, I learned he was using me as his backup in a meet with one of his former partners in crime, and now we have a new lead on the Adler case."

"You're kidding!" Jones took a seat in Peter's office. "Why don't you look happy about it?"

"It's a long story. Listen, I'm going to need someone to stake out a restaurant this evening, when Neal meets with his contact again. I'd do it, but I think she'd be suspicious if I showed up a second time. Do you have plans?"

"I can be flexible," Jones said. "Give me a time and place, and I'll be there."

"Thanks. Check with Neal. He'll give you the details." Peter expected Jones to leave, but instead the agent remained seated, looking agitated. "Was there something else?"

"Yeah. You know how you had me testing out the cell phone records the NSA is gathering?"

"Using Neal's phone as a test case. You were going to track his movements and let me know if you noticed anything suspicious. Did you see something?"

"Not exactly. There hasn't been much to see, honestly. But last night I plotted out the results for the last three weeks on a city map. I was going to look for patterns, and then see if I could generate an algorithm that would find patterns automatically." Jones paused and straightened his tie in a rare display of nerves.

Peter leaned back in his chair. "Out with it, Jones."

"You remember I mentioned a friend who's been staying at my place?"

"Ex-navy buddy staying at your apartment while he recovers from an injury, right?"

"That's right. George lost his lower right leg. He's been learning to use a prosthesis and getting therapy from the Donwell Institute; they specialize in helping people who've lost limbs. The thing is, George has been sort of depressed, not taking much of an interest in anything, and I got careless. I left the map and my notes out overnight. I didn't realize he'd looked at it until I went home for lunch today and he mentioned he'd seen the map before I'd put it away this morning. He must have studied it for a while, because he said he'd noticed some trends. There are places Neal tends to hang out, other than the office and his apartment. There's nothing suspicious in what George found, but I knew you wouldn't be happy that I let anyone see it."

Peter sighed. "That's highly classified data, Jones. No one is supposed to know the NSA is even collecting it."

"I know. I'm sorry, Peter. I wasn't thinking. Since Neal isn't a suspect and the data wasn't for a case, I didn't treat it as carefully as I should have. If it helps, there's nothing on the map or on my notes that indicates where the data came from. George has no idea what he stumbled into, but I can bring him in to talk to you, if you want to warn him about the restricted nature of it."

"If he doesn't realize where the data came from, at this point our safest bet is not to make a big deal out of it. And for you not to take it home again."

"The thing is, if I work on it here, Caffrey's likely to notice. He drops by my desk every so often to see if I'm working on something more interesting than what you've assigned to him."

"Fine. If you haven't noticed anything suspicious in all this time, let's give it a break. Write up a summary for Hughes about the quality and value of the data for use in future cases, and maybe we'll run another trial later."

"I'll get you that summary by the end of day," Jones promised, and he looked relieved as he made his escape from Peter's office.

Peter, on the other hand, felt a headache gathering like a nascent thunderstorm in his head. Almost from the first day Neal had started working at the FBI, he'd challenged Peter's black-and-white view of the world. In Peter's eyes, Neal shouldn't undertake any undercover work until a therapist cleared him. Peter was sure that's what Hughes had intended. But Neal was correct in pointing out that the restriction had been discussed in the context of the Highbury case.

And now Peter, like Neal, was seeing gray areas. A meeting with Kate wasn't a big deal, as far as undercover work went. And Adler was a huge priority for the Bureau, worth making a minor exception for. There wasn't anything illegal about letting Neal do this without a therapist's clearance. But it still felt wrong.

And speaking of things that felt wrong… What was he supposed to do about the fact that Neal had broken into a safe during his first undercover assignment at the Bureau? As hard as he tried, Peter kept running into more gray areas instead of a black-and-white answer.

Needing a second opinion from someone who would understand, but who wouldn't be obliged to report Peter's conundrum, he looked up the phone number of Thomas Gardiner, a former FBI agent who now taught law at Yale. Gardiner had helped get Neal into the New Year's party where the safe cracking had occurred, and it didn't take long for Peter to bring the man up to speed on this latest twist in the case.

"You don't believe Neal opened that safe for his own personal gain," Professor Gardiner said. "From what I've heard about him, he was a talented thief but not wealthy when you recruited him. And he accepted employment at the FBI, where he can't expect to get rich. Therefore money isn't his motivation. Furthermore, you've made it clear that you trust him. From what I've observed of Neal and heard from you today, I see no reason to take disciplinary action. Opening the safe was a necessary step to keep an operation on track, and he immediately made you aware of what had happened, enabling the FBI to recover what was taken. At this point I'd recommend training him on what the surveillance team needs from him during an undercover op. In this case, you needed more detail of what was going on and why, to prevent the types of concerns you're facing now."

"Did he ruin our case against Kate?" Peter asked.

"He certainly didn't help it, but his role doesn't change the fact that you have a recording of her stating her intent to steal what was in the safe, followed by your agent discovering the stolen property in her possession. When you do arrest her, that gives you leverage if she tries to negotiate rather than confess." A creak was heard over the line as the professor leaned back in his chair in his office at Yale. "What's your real concern here, Peter?"

"I'm worried that he lied to me." Uncomfortable looking out toward his team in the bullpen during this discussion, Peter stood up to look out the window to the street below. "Neal loves Kate, and doesn't want her arrested. It's possible that she really opened the safe, and he claimed it was his work in order to weaken our case against her."

"Knowing you'd be disappointed in him."

"Yes," Peter said.

"Let's take you out of the equation for a moment, shall we? Is it in Neal's character to open the safe himself, as he described, for expedience?"

Peter almost smiled. "It's exactly the kind of impetuous decision he would make."

"And it's in his known skill set. Do you have any reason to doubt his assertion that safe cracking is not in Kate's skill set?"

"In our list of crimes attributed to Kate Moreau, we don't have any instances of safe cracking."

"And in my own interactions with Neal, I noticed a distinct tendency for hero-worship toward you. I find it highly unlikely that he lied to you, Peter."

Peter hadn't realized how tense he'd become until Gardiner's words allowed him to relax.

"I'd be surprised," Gardiner continued, "if you can cite any recent examples of Neal lying to you."

Peter returned to his desk chair. "Neal and I have different ideas of what constitutes a lie. He'll mislead me, or misdirect without a second thought."

"But not an actual lie?"

"No." Peter thought back, and couldn't recall a direct lie. Sarcastic remarks and jokes, but not real lies. "But we're talking about a talented con artist. He lied for a living." Peter recalled a conversation in St. Louis when Neal had said the same thing – that he didn't need to practice lying because he did it for a living.

"Not to you, however."

"Are you saying you think he _can't_ lie to me?" Peter was aware he sounded incredulous.

"That's outside my area of expertise. But I'll say that I think he very much wants to avoid lying to you. He wants your acceptance and approval, and he knows being caught in a lie would jeopardize that. It's not a risk he would take lightly."

Peter wrapped up the conversation, thanking Thomas Gardiner for his advice and insight. For the rest of the day he kept wondering if he'd be able to tell if Neal lied to him, and if Kate were the one person who could make Neal cross that line.

Knowing that Neal would meet with Kate again this evening did nothing to help Peter's headache.

_A/N: The Donwell Institute is fictional. I often struggle with character and place names, and for this story I'm pulling names from Jane Austen's _Emma_. The character Thomas Gardiner was introduced in my story By the Book, when I was using names from _Pride and Prejudice.

_Thanks once again to Silbrith for editing, reviewing, beta-ing, and sanity-checking. I still plan to continue posting a chapter per week, with many chapters left in this story._


	4. Chapter 4 - Connecting the Dots

**Chapter 4: Connecting the Dots**

**New York café. Tuesday evening. February 17, 2004. **

_A/N: Spoilers for _The Great Gatsby_ in case you haven't read or watched it._

When Neal returned to the café at 7pm, Kate was already waiting for him, and Jones had taken position on a centrally located stool along the 1950s style counter. The agent was pretending to be absorbed in reading the newspaper.

Kate looked up at Neal, and it seemed to him that her smile lit the room. "I wasn't sure if you'd come back," she said as Neal slid into the seat opposite her.

"I had to."

A waitress stopped at their table, preventing Neal from continuing. He ordered the same sandwich he'd had for lunch. Kate ordered a chef's salad. The waitress brought a pot of coffee and filled two mugs.

When the waitress was gone, Neal said, "Kate, you have to stop this. Working for…" Neal looked around, bringing Kate's attention to the other people in the café. "Working for _him_ is dangerous. Every law enforcement agency in the country wants to find him. Why would you risk bringing that kind of attention to yourself?"

"He pays well. And you don't get the rush without a little risk." Kate raised her coffee mug as if to toast Neal.

Neal ran his hands through his hair. "God, Kate, I never should have brought you into my cons. I created another addict."

Kate took one of his hands in hers. "If you really think it's that dangerous, I'll stop."

"You promise?"

"I can make this my last job for him." Kate shook her head. "I know what you're going to say, but it isn't that easy to stop. Adler's requests come with an advance, and I've already spent the advance for this job. The plain truth is, I need the money from this job. Once I have that, I can let him know I need to take a break."

"A break isn't the same thing as stopping," Neal pointed out.

"He'll be more accepting if I tell him it's just a break, and a temporary break can easily turn into a permanent one. But Neal, taking a break from working for Adler doesn't mean I agree to stop doing this kind of work for everyone else. I'm not going to follow your route. That's not for me. You have to understand that."

"I'll try. It's just that I don't see how we can be together unless we're both on the same side."

"Neither do I, but let's take this one step at a time. The first step is completing this job, and for that I need your help. After that, if we're meant to be together, we'll find a way."

A barrage of emotions ran through Neal and he didn't try to hide them. "Kate…" He took a deep breath. "You know I'd do anything…" He paused as the waitress arrived with their food.

"Then you're in?" Kate asked.

"I'm in. Tell me what you need me to do."

"I need you to steal something." Kate placed her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands. Her blue eyes sparkled. "Adler had an estate on the North Shore of Long Island, the area also known as the Gold Coast, beloved by the wealthy and F. Scott Fitzgerald."

"_The Great Gatsby_ was set there," Neal remembered.

"Exactly. Adler loved that book. The wealth, the excess, the man who made himself into that mysterious and legendary figure. He liked to think of himself as modern-day Jay Gatsby. A few years ago an estate in Kings Point went on the market and he snatched it up. It was called Enscombe."

For the first time that evening, Neal noticed a reaction from Jones. The name _Enscombe_ meant something to him. "I don't recall Adler spending time there when I worked for him."

Kate shrugged, and paused to eat some of her salad before saying, "At first he went there a lot, almost every weekend. But as Adler Financial Management expanded, he didn't have that much time to get away. Before you arrived on the scene, he decided to lease it to an upscale club that uses the space for a retreat." She went back to eating her salad.

"I'm supposed to steal something he kept at Enscombe?" Neal asked.

Kate nodded, still paying more attention to the salad than to Neal.

"Why would he leave something important to him in a house that's open to the public?"

"He reserved the master suite for his private use. It has its own separate entrance, and part of the deal with the club was that no one goes in there. It's kept locked, and what he wants is in a safe inside the suite. I don't know what it is, Neal. Just that he will pay a lot of money for it."

"Didn't the FBI go through that suite and his safe already? They would have gotten warrants to search all of his properties."

"This one was owned under another name. He did that sometimes, keeping a handful of assets off the books, probably for this very reason. I don't think anyone has connected Adler to Enscombe. Even the club knew him by an alias."

"No one recognized him?"

"They didn't see him very often. The lease was handled by a lawyer, and you know what his hours were like. He'd arrive in the middle of the night."

"But an estate like that… It would have outdoor amenities, right? A pool, a dock for fishing or sailing, tennis courts… Are you telling me he didn't use any of those?"

"Nick! Do I have to spell it out for you? He had a girlfriend, or I guess you'd call her a mistress, and he didn't want anyone to know about her. So, yes, he took her to Enscombe sometimes and hid away with her in the master suite until it was time to return to the city."

Neal raised a brow. "Nick?"

"I… I'm sorry, Neal. Adler had the whole Jay Gatsby thing going, and then when you arrived on the scene as Nick Halden, well, he loved the idea of having a Nick in his own personal version of the story. When I think about his Gatsby moments, the name Nick keeps popping into my head."

"Any idea who his Daisy was?"

Kate's eyes widened. "His what?"

"The woman Adler wanted to hide from the world. If he was playing Jay Gatsby, he would have thought of her as his Daisy."

"He never told anyone. And it doesn't matter. We just need to get inside that safe."

"And then what?" Neal asked. "How do we get the contents to him?"

"One step at a time, Neal. This starts with you conning your way into the club. They won't be interested in an FBI employee, but Nick Halden is exactly the type of person they want." Kate flagged down the waitress. "I'll take the rest of this to go."

"Aren't you going to tell me about the club?"

Kate shook her head as she placed the remaining salad into a carryout container. "All I know is the name, and learning that is the easy part. You'll need to find contacts and a way in." She started to slide out of the booth, and paused. "And there's a deadline. We need to have the contents of the safe by the end of the month."

"Why?"

"According to the lease, the club only has to reserve the suite for Adler until March 1st, 2004. At that point they can change the locks and start using the space for their retreat. There's no telling what they'll do when they find the safe. They might toss it, or get someone to open it and find whatever Adler wanted to keep hidden. If you need my help for whatever con you decide to run, let Mozzie know. He has my number." With that last bit of information, Kate stood up and left the café.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Kate Moreau was well out of sight, Jones left the counter to sit opposite Caffrey in the booth. "She stuck you with the check. You really didn't know about Enscombe?" he asked the somber consultant.

"It sounds like there's a lot I didn't know. I saw your reaction. What's the significance?"

"The club using Enscombe is Highbury Professional Connections."

Caffrey shook his head and laughed without humor. "Peter's going to hate this. Did the FBI really not know about Adler's connection to Enscombe or the club?"

"I've been through the files for the Adler case and for Highbury, and neither one has a hint of a connection. And that's a problem." Jones saw Caffrey's surprised look and elaborated. "All we have is the word of a suspected con woman. Getting a warrant to search Enscombe for Adler's safe will be nearly impossible with such flimsy evidence. And even if we get into Enscombe with a warrant, it'll make the management of Highbury nervous. They'll start destroying evidence of their blackmail scheme, maybe clean up their act for a while or change their name and move to another city. We could lose any chance of proving what they've been up to." Jones shrugged. "The only way I see this working is to connect all the dots by sending you in as Halden to break into that safe and to get evidence of the blackmail at the same time."

The waitress delivered the check, and Caffrey pulled out his wallet. He laid a few bills on the table and checked his watch. "Listen, I need to get out of here. I'll catch up with you in the morning."

"I'm gonna call Peter in a few minutes with an update. You sure you don't want to hang around for that?"

"Not really in the mood."

"Hey, man, I get it. I mean, conning your ex-girlfriend can't be easy, but you were good. I'll tell Peter."

"It was easier knowing she was conning me."

"What do you mean?" When Caffrey didn't answer, but simply looked morose, Jones added, "You can talk to me, you know. If you need a friendly ear, to blow off some steam, I'm here. All off the record."

"The minute she put reconciliation on the table, I knew she was lying. She's always said she was avoiding me because that wasn't possible. Even at lunch today she said there was no way we could be together. That means I have to question everything she said tonight, especially…" Caffrey sighed. "Does your file on Adler mention a mistress?"

"Nah, I never saw anything about that. Everyone we interviewed said he was married to his business, too busy for romance."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Caffrey moved out of the booth abruptly, with an expression that made Jones uneasy.

The thing about Caffrey was that he had a collection of smiles he used to charm and get his way. Caffrey and smiling went hand-in-hand. Right now he looked angry and a little reckless. "I'll head out, too," Jones said, wanting to prevent Caffrey from doing something he might regret. He followed Caffrey outside. "You want me to give you a ride home?"

"Thanks, but I'm not going home. I have someplace I need to be." Caffrey looked at Jones, and seemed to read some of his concerns. "It's fine, Jones. My next stop is the perfect place to blow off some steam."

Caffrey caught a cab, and Jones considered his options. He pulled out his cell phone and placed a call. "George, it's me. You know how you said you noticed some patterns on that map? What exactly did you find?"

"During the business day it's generally in or around the building where you work. Most nights are spent at Riverside Drive, and weekends are usually in the museum and arts district. But Tuesday and Thursday nights venture into an area in the Lower East Side. I've been there a few times; it's mostly bars."

Jones thought about asking for an address, but knew Caffrey would immediately spot a member of the team following him. The Tuesday Tails had ingrained that lesson. "You think you could head over there, see if you can track this guy for me? He's not dangerous. I'm more worried about him than anything else."

"Sure. What's he look like?"

"You're at my apartment now?"

"Yeah."

"On the bookshelf there's a photo of the White Collar team."

There was the sound of footsteps. "Got it. You're in the front row, next to a strawberry blond."

"Tricia Wiese. The person in the middle of the photo is our boss, Peter Burke. He has an arm around the guy to his left. That's Neal Caffrey. He's the one I'm worried about."

"You were tracking the movements of an FBI agent?"

"He's not an agent, and… I'll explain later. Just keep an eye out for him, and give me a call if you think he's getting into trouble. Think of it as when we were naval officers looking out for the new guys the first time they went on shore leave. I'll see you back at my place, ok?"

"You got it, Lieutenant Commander Jones."

Jones grinned. Even as he worried about Caffrey, he had to be pleased to hear the old enthusiasm return to his friend's voice. "I'm counting on you, Commander Knightley."

With that task successfully delegated, Jones returned to his car for privacy as he called Agent Burke. He filled the boss in on what they'd learned from Caffrey's old girlfriend.

"Do you think it's a coincidence," Peter asked, "the invitation from Highbury and this whole thing with Kate happening in the same week?"

"It could be. The invitation was a repeat. Caffrey said he first heard from them in late November." Jones paused. The conversation at the café had bothered him. He didn't have any evidence, merely his instinct shouting warnings, but the boss was known for relying on his gut. "Something about the Gatsby part bothered me. And I think from his reaction that it bothered Caffrey, too."

"Tell me what about it seemed off to you."

"Most of the conversation, Kate was a consummate saleswoman. She was looking him in the eye, nodding and smiling at him. I think she regretted mentioning Gatsby. Almost as soon as she did that, she turned her attention to her food and didn't want to talk or look at him anymore. She got flustered, used the name Nick instead of Neal. And when he asked who was Daisy in this scenario, she looked like a deer in headlights. She denied it, but I think she knows who Adler was taking to that estate on the sly."

"And she doesn't want Neal to know who it was." Peter sighed. "You think Kate was Adler's mistress, his Daisy. If so, they were using Neal all along. He was their Nick Carraway, the one who kept people from noticing their relationship. In this case, by letting everyone see a relationship between Kate and Neal."

"It's just a theory."

"It's a good theory, even if it scares the hell out of me. I don't want to think about what Neal will do if he comes to the same conclusion you did. And on top of that, _The Great Gatsby_ didn't exactly have a happy ending."

Jones refrained from saying he thought Neal shared his suspicions. He ended the call and headed home, trusting George to keep Neal from doing anything drastic tonight.

_A/N: In case you haven't heard, there is a group of White Collar fans advocating for more than 6 episodes in the next (and likely final) season. You can follow them on twitter to learn more: WCClosureTV_

_Thanks for the reviews and favorites. I know there are a lot of great stories out here to read, and I want you to know I appreciate that you're taking the time to read mine. The next chapter will be up in a week. And as always, thanks to Silbrith for her proofreading and suggestions and thought-provoking questions._


	5. Chapter 5 - Playing Along

**Chapter 5: Playing Along**

**New York City taxi. Tuesday evening. February 17, 2004. **

A good con artist doesn't reveal his emotions unless those emotions help sell the con, Neal reminded himself, displeased that he'd let Jones see how upset he'd been after talking to Kate.

Peter would probably argue that "good" and "con artist" were mutually exclusive, and say that as a consultant for the FBI Neal shouldn't think of himself as a con man anymore. But part of the reason the FBI wanted him in their ranks was for that very skill set. Therefore keeping in practice was important.

The challenge tonight had been the sheer number of distractions. Even before Kate's bombshells, there had been Peter's comment that Neal could be in serious trouble, even arrested, for cracking Sinclair's safe on New Year's Eve. Add on to that yesterday's mandate that Neal must seek therapy regarding the abuse he'd suffered as a child, and who wouldn't be flustered? The biggest, longest con of his life had been convincing everyone, including himself, that he was fine during and after that abuse. Reliving those memories was absolutely the last thing Neal wanted to do, even if it would make the flashbacks stop.

The implication that Kate had been Adler's mistress had been too much to handle on top of everything else. It would take time to process exactly what Kate had said tonight compared to what Neal remembered of their romance. The fact is, he'd taught Kate how to run a con and she'd been a natural. That raised the question: why had she been so obviously rattled at the café? Had she really been thrown off her stride to that extent? Or had she been pretending, conning Neal into suspecting something that would make him react emotionally rather than intellectually? And why hadn't she mentioned that the club leasing Adler's estate was Highbury Professional Connections?

The taxi stopped in front of a bar, and Neal paid the driver. Rather than walking into the bar, he entered the music shop next door. They had one of the best selections of reasonably priced instruments in the city, and some creative marketing techniques. For instance, on Tuesday and Thursday evenings they ran a promo with the neighboring bar, featuring live music. Throughout the week, musicians visited the shop and auditioned, and the owner selected a set of artists to perform.

While in St. Louis in December, Neal had met a retired legend of alternate rock, Michael Darling. The keyboardist and composer for the group Local Devastation, Michael had been an idol of rock fans like Neal in the late 1990s. Michael had recently agreed to write songs for Ty Merchant, the lead singer of Local Devastation who was now embarking on a solo career. Michael would be in New York soon to go over some new songs with Ty, and out of appreciation for Neal's help, he had extended an invitation to join them. He'd also insisted that Neal stay in practice.

The Ellingtons' mansion had a music room with a piano, and Neal had a guitar, but practicing boisterous rock songs didn't feel right as Byron's health faded. Seeking other venues, Neal learned about the music store and had struck up a friendship with the owner. Randy Weston had hopes of eventually selling Neal a gorgeous high-end guitar, and Neal had hopes of being able to afford it someday.

It was 8:28 when Neal entered the store, mere minutes before Randy took the night's performers back to his office to finalize the set list. "Had me worried there," Randy said. "Come on back."

As usual, there would be two simultaneous performances from nine to midnight. In the dark, moody bar, patrons would hear louder, more angst-driven rock songs. Meanwhile, waitresses would serve drinks in the bright shop, which would feature a selection of lighter, pop songs. While the bar had a cover charge, the store's doors would be wide open to entice wannabe musicians to believe that they could learn to play like the performers, if only they came inside and purchased the right instruments.

The bar fit Neal's mood tonight, and he volunteered to be part of that group. He selected two songs he wanted to perform covers of, and would back up other members of the group on their selections.

"Didn't bring your beat-up guitar this time, Neal?" Randy asked as the meeting broke up. "Finally going to buy one from me?"

"Not this time, but I'll rent one for the evening, if you'll let me keep it till midnight." Neal knew Randy would let the performers borrow an instrument for a small fee, in return for his shop being acknowledged at the end of each song where the instrument was used.

Randy led the way to the guitar he hoped Neal would buy. "You're performing in the first 90 minutes. Why do you need it till midnight?"

"I'm going to East Meets West later," Neal said casually, and then grinned at Randy's look of dismay.

"That's barely a step up from karaoke!"

"Yeah, but I promised to meet someone. It's just one song. Then your guitar comes safely home again."

Randy looked down at the expensive guitar in his hands. "You come back here when you're done at the bar and swap this out for a different model. This baby isn't meant for karaoke."

Neal took the guitar with the reverence it deserved, and helped set up for the evening's performance in the bar. After everything Neal had been through today, there was something cathartic about throwing himself into dark and edgy music. As he sang and played his guitar, he disappeared into the songs. It was more than playing the right notes and singing the right words. This was performance, loud and aggressive, and an outlet for his inner turmoil. Channeling that into music made him feel better, and made the audience cheer.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Agent Clinton Jones had faith in his friend George Knightley. The man was a decorated naval officer, and had proved himself in combat. There was no reason to worry about him following Neal Caffrey through the streets of New York. And for the first couple of hours, Jones wasn't worried. After three hours, he was mildly concerned. After midnight, he felt like a parent whose teenager had broken curfew. Couldn't George have at least called or texted? Should Jones be out looking for him?

Jones was actually pacing when he finally heard a key turning in the lock. He hurried to an arm chair, where he endeavored to look calm. "Find him?" he asked as George stepped inside. At 30 years of age, George was a few years older than Jones. He had straight brown hair, brown eyes, a tan from spending the last year in the South Pacific, and cheekbones that women lovingly described as proclaiming his native American heritage on his mother's side.

George hung up his coat. "I think the term _scamp_ was invented for your friend Neal Caffrey." He took a seat on the sofa. "I certainly got a workout that the experts at the Donwell Institute will be proud of."

"Can I get you anything? Coffee?" Jones asked.

"Maybe some water," George said. While Jones grabbed a bottle of water, George started his story. "I got there in time to see your Neal Caffrey arrive in a taxi. It stopped in front of a bar, but he went into the neighboring music store instead."

"Did you go in?" Jones asked as he handed his friend the bottle and then sat down.

"Yeah, because I'm such a music expert. You ever heard me sing, Clinton?"

Jones thought a moment. "No."

"That's because whenever I start, people cover their ears and moan. I'm not someone who can hang out and make intelligent conversation in a music store. Fortunately there were a lot of people standing out front, and I joined the crowd. I saw signs advertising live music supplied by the store, with pop performances in the store starting at nine, and rock performances in the bar. People were waiting around to see which performers would be participating in each venue. Your friend Neal disappeared into a back room with several other people. When they emerged, someone who looked like a store manager handed him a guitar. Neal and several others walked over to the bar, and didn't have to pay the cover charge."

Jones smiled. "Let me guess. You felt comfortable going into a bar."

"Beer, now there's a language I speak. No bypassing the cover charge for me, but I got inside and grabbed a stool at the bar before the performance began. There were four of them: Neal, two other guys and a Goth girl. They took turns singing. Each of them took the lead on two songs, and they played and sang backup for each other."

"Were they any good?"

"Based on the crowd reaction, I'd say so. Of course I only recognized about half the songs, but the girl sitting next to me was going on about how she plans to try out for _American Idol _and when I started asking her for the song titles, she made me a list." George stood up and walked back to his coat, pulling a cocktail napkin from a pocket. He handed the napkin to Jones and sat down again.

Jones read through the list. "Fell on Black Days" by Soundgarden. "First Cut is the Deepest" by Sheryl Crow. "Time is Running Out" by Muse. "My Way" by Butch Walker. "You Give Love a Bad Name" by Bon Jovi. "Unwell" by Matchbox Twenty. "Me Against the World" by Simple Plan.

"Goth Girl sang that second song, and I gotta say she really looked like she wanted to stab someone every time she sang the chorus, even though that wasn't what the song meant. If she hangs out with Neal on a regular basis, I might be a little concerned. Your friend played the third and seventh songs. The last guy in the group was starting another song as Neal was leaving. I can't judge the singing, but I thought Neal had the best actual performance. He seemed the most natural in front of an audience, and most believable in conveying the emotions of the songs. Which was anger, mostly. I'm sure you can look the songs up and see if anything in the tone concerns you, but to my thinking a loud performance is a lot better than heavy drinking followed by a bar fight."

Jones had to agree, but as he didn't recognize the songs Caffrey had performed, he planned to download them in the morning to be safe. "What time did he leave the bar?"

"About 10:15, I think. I wasn't prepared for that. I'd expected him to stay through the last song. I wobbled a bit on the prosthetic leg when I hopped off the bar stool without thinking. No big deal, but it slowed me down enough that I worried I'd lose him. I made an educated guess he'd head back to the store to return the guitar, and guessed right. But here's where he surprised me. I saw him hand over one guitar case, and the manager handed him a different one. And he carried that one out with him."

A dozen scenarios ran through Jones' mind. That case could have held stolen goods, contraband, cash for a job. Any of the above would give Agent Burke heartburn. "Where'd he go next?"

"He walked, thankfully, since I'd guess yelling 'Follow that cab' only works in movies. He went about five blocks north to a place called East Meets West. It's sort of karaoke for duets. Bright, garish place. Like a really bad casino with a sense of humor about it. They served Screaming Wings and I Forgot the Words Rings."

"Did you sing?" Jones had to ask.

"I've been told on many occasions that what I do cannot be called singing, and no, I didn't subject anyone to that experience tonight. They pair up singers on the East Coast and West Coast, or sometimes in the U.S. and Asia. Most times people sign up for a specific song and are randomly partnered with someone else who wanted the same song. But sometimes singers would request to be partnered with a friend or with someone whose past performances had impressed them. I saw Neal sign up or register or whatever they do. Then I ordered a beer in the desperate hope of deadening my pain from the songs that followed. Some of those people were almost as hopeless at singing as I am." He paused to drink some water. "A few were good, though. Neal and his partner were among the best."

"What did they sing?"

"There was an MC based out of LA. Sounded like a Ryan Seacrest impersonator, if you ask me, and he announced their song as 'Broken' by Seether and Amy Lee. Do you know it?"

Jones shook his head, and jotted the name on the cocktail napkin with the others.

"Me neither. The girl he sang with was in Seattle, and was called Angela. She really attacked that song. Belted it out, my sister would say. She looked young, a college senior, probably. She wore a University of Washington sweatshirt and had dark hair in a ponytail. To look at her, I assumed she was Neal's sister."

Jones frowned. "He doesn't have any siblings. He does have a cousin named Angela, and I think her age was 22."

"The thing I found odd was that they said they'd first met over the holidays. And yet the MC said they sounded like they'd been singing together for years."

"How'd they explain that?"

"Your friend Neal just shrugged and said they'd both had the same teacher."

Jones thought over what George had told him, and asked, "And Neal played the guitar that he'd brought with him?"

"Yeah. It was obviously not the same guitar he'd played before. But other than the color, I couldn't tell you what was different about it. When he was done with the song, he packed it up and headed out. This time I was prepared. I'd already paid for the beer, and I jumped up to follow him."

Something didn't compute. "You're telling me you followed Caffrey to this place and then followed him out again and he didn't notice he was being followed?"

"Now we get to the reason I called him a scamp. I caught up with him at the entrance, even bumped into him."

Jones groaned. He knew where this was headed.

"Then he slipped out with a group of people, and when I got outside, he'd disappeared. I thought chances were good he'd go back to the music store with the guitar, so I turned south. I'd only gone a few yards when he stepped out of an entryway, calling me by name and holding my wallet. Not something I expected of an FBI employee."

"You might say he had a misspent youth."

"Yeah. Give a guy a little warning, next time."

"Did he return the wallet?"

"In exchange for telling him why I was following him. I didn't mention you by name, just said that a friend was worried about him. We walked back together. I admitted that I didn't know the first thing about music and nearly panicked when I saw him head into that store, and he got a good laugh out of that. It did seem like his mood had lightened. He took me into the store with him while he returned the guitar. Then he hailed a cab and asked if I wanted to share a ride. I assumed he could figure out you'd sent me if I gave your address, so I declined, and heard him tell the driver Riverside Drive. I remembered the name from the map. It's where he spends his nights. He was going home, right?"

"That's right." Jones relaxed, satisfied that Caffrey wasn't going to do anything crazy. He was about to suggest turning in, but it seemed George wasn't done with his story.

"There I was, congratulating myself on keeping up with a twenty-something on my prosthetic leg, when someone stepped out of the crowd around the bar and asked if I'm a friend of Neal's."

"Give me a description."

"About your height. White, dark blond hair and light brown eyes. Around thirty. He guessed I was former military and introduced himself as Captain Isaac Dixon, former USAF. Do you know the name?"

"No, but Caffrey's uncle and godfather served in the Air Force. That could be the connection. What did you tell Dixon?"

"I described myself as a friend of a friend. Dixon said his club is looking to book live entertainment, and he wanted to offer Neal a job. I told him Neal had a day job, but that didn't deter him. He said most musicians he met had another job."

"Did you mention that Neal works for the Bureau?"

"No, you hadn't said exactly what kind of work Neal does for the FBI, or what kind of trouble you thought he might be getting into. I thought it best not to give anything away."

"Good instincts. Did the guy seem legit?"

"Yeah. He didn't ask any more questions, other than making a request that I give his business card to Neal. It's in my wallet. You want it?"

Jones sighed. "I can't give it to him without admitting I'm the one who had him followed. He isn't going to be happy about the tail, but he'll assume it was something the boss arranged. I'd rather he keep thinking that."

"I'll hold on to it. If he guesses it was you who gave the order, or if you think of a way to give him the card without him guessing, let me know."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

In the guest room, George Knightley felt a sense of pride that he'd been able to do this favor for his friend. It was the first time he had been able to do anything significant for Clinton Jones since he'd started crashing at his place two weeks ago. Being a freeloader didn't suit him, even though Clinton insisted it would be ridiculous for George to pay for his own place when Clinton had plenty of space and lived near the Donwell Institute.

Pride was the reason George hadn't told his friend about the rest of his conversation with Dixon. After giving him the business card, Dixon had asked what a former Navy commander did in civilian life. George mentioned he'd gotten a medical degree while in the service, and expressed his desire to find a job in hospital administration.

Dixon had gone on to say that the club where he worked had a lot of doctors as members, and encouraged George to stop by for lunch the next day. The whole purpose of the club was networking – putting job seekers in the path of professionals whose companies were hiring.

The idea of finding a job quickly and establishing his independence held huge appeal. But he'd wait to tell Clinton about the invitation to visit Highbury Professional Connections until he saw if he got a solid job lead out of it.

_A/N: East Meets West, Local Devastation, Michael Darling and Ty Merchant are purely fictional. George Knightley, Weston and Dixon are more names pulled from Jane Austen's _Emma_, as are Highbury and Donwell._

_My thanks again to Silbrith for proofreading and beta magic. Her questions about where this series is going next have been inspiring. _

_Thanks for reading! Next week, in chapter 6, we'll encounter Byron and June again. And Peter will be worried about Neal._


	6. Chapter 6 - Disconnected

**Chapter 6: Disconnected**

**Ellington Mansion. Barely Wednesday morning. February 18, 2004. **

It was after midnight when the taxi dropped Neal off at Riverside Drive. When he entered the house, the first floor was dark. But to his surprise, a light came on in the parlor beyond the music room. With Byron unable to climb the stairs to the master bedroom, a hospital bed had been set up for him in that parlor. Turning on the light was a signal that he was awake and wanted company.

Neal approached the room with mixed feelings. While he liked Byron and appreciated the man's advice, it was painful to see the once vital man bed-ridden and struggling to speak. Beyond that, although the night of music performance had helped level out Neal's mood to the extent that he'd been convincingly lighthearted with George Knightley, Byron wasn't as easy to fool as a total stranger. Neal really wanted to go upstairs and be alone, but there was no ignoring the light in the parlor.

These days Byron was almost never alone. A nurse or June remained at his side, ready to administer pain medication or to fetch anything that might amuse or distract him. Right now June was lying on a sofa a few feet beyond the hospital bed, so tired that the light hadn't woken her. Byron's hand hovered shakily over the light control that lay beside him on the bed.

"Got a… hot… date?" Byron asked.

Neal took the chair between the hospital bed and the door. "As a matter of fact, I saw Kate this evening. She wants my help with a job. And the FBI wants me to take the job to lead them to a bigger fish." He tried to keep his voice low, to avoid disturbing June, but she sat up.

"Neal, have you been home long?" she asked. Her eyes were puffy from crying recently,

"Just got here. You wanna break?" he offered.

"Maybe a moment to fix my hair. I'll be right back." She sniffled as she walked away.

"Your girl… pretty?"

"Almost as pretty as June. Hey, can I get you anything?" Neal asked, trying to deflect the conversation away from Kate.

"She change… her mind?"

Neal sighed. "No. She still isn't interested in immunity. I just don't get it. I'm used to being able to talk people into things. This should be a no-brainer, because she should already want it. She has to know the Feds are closing in, and when they do she'll go to prison. And she still won't go for a deal."

"Life… change. Hard. Most can't… do it."

"I did."

"Special." Byron shook his head as Neal started to protest. "You found… something… you wanted… more."

"I'm not sure, Byron. I love her. Maybe I'm supposed to give this up to be with her. Love's the most important thing, right?"

"Only if… she loves… you… as much. But… she loves… con more. Money… more than… people."

"More than me, you mean?" Neal ran his hands through his hair. "Do I just give up?"

"It's time… to let go… or get… hurt… even more."

"Even more than it hurts now? That's hard to imagine."

"A cycle… keeps repeating… hurting… till you… stop. Let her… go. And me."

"What?" Neal didn't follow.

"Be ready… to let… go. Not much… time."

"What? No!" Neal protested. He heard June's footsteps and stood up. "Tell him to stop saying that."

"Byron's right," said June, leaning against the doorway. "The hospice people are experts, and they say we have only a few days left."

Neal instinctively backed up a step. "But… You aren't just going to give up, are you?"

"Always… knew," Byron said. "Have to… accept."

"But you've been fighting all along. You can't stop now." Neal couldn't find the words. "No." He backed away another step. "No."

"It's alright, Neal. It's time to accept the truth, to be at peace with it, and be prepared. And it's alright to take your time to get there. You can't possibly hate it as much as I do, I promise you. But we wanted you to know what to expect." June's eyes were brimming with tears, and yet she looked at him with sympathy. "I know it's a lot to take in, and you have to go to work in the morning. Go on upstairs and get some rest."

Neal nodded and left, numb with shock.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

In the morning, Neal approached the parlor with the silent footsteps of a cat burglar, determined not to intrude on the couple's remaining time together. Typically June and Byron would share a breakfast around this time, but today there was no breakfast tray. Instead a nurse was making soothing sounds and administering morphine.

June stepped out of the parlor into the music room. "He stopped eating yesterday. He can't keep anything down."

"I'm sorry." It felt inadequate. "I'm so sorry, June. Last night I felt like a coward for leaving, and like a needy fool for wanting to stick around for reassurance. Is there anything I can do?"

"Do you have a few minutes?" When Neal nodded, June continued, "The day you met Byron, you were playing the piano, and we requested a Sinatra song."

"I remember. I played 'Young at Heart.'"

"And sang it, too. Would you do it again? He loves Sinatra. I'd like him to hear something he enjoys, to have happy memories now."

"Of course." The piano was nearby, in the music room where they were talking. Neal played and sang the song softly, almost as if it were a lullaby.

June had tears in her eyes again when he stood up. "I'm always crying today," she said apologetically. "Do you think, at…" Her voice broke. "At the funeral, would you play something for us?"

"Anything. If I don't know the song you want, I'll learn it." Neal looked at his watch. "I'm sorry, but they'll expect me at the morning briefing."

June took his arm and they walked to the entrance together.

Neal hesitated. "If you need anything, I could come back. Or I could get the day off."

"No. Save the time for the funeral."

There was an ornate set of coat hooks in the entry hall. Neal grabbed his winter overcoat and eyed a jaunty fedora of Byron's that matched the suit he'd chosen today. He picked it up and cradled it in his hands. "Would you mind?"

June took the hat and reached up to place it on Neal's head. She adjusted the angle and nodded. "It gives you the same devil-may-care attitude he had when he wore it. I'm glad to see it, and to remember. Wear it anytime you want."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The team arrived at the Wednesday morning briefing expecting to be regaled with the adventures of the latest Tuesday Tail, but Peter simply said their consultant had chosen to lead him to new information on a cold case. He directed Neal, Jones and Tricia to turn over their assignments to others on the team by noon, and to meet him in the afternoon to be briefed on their next assignment. He'd already warned Jones of Hughes' order not to mention Vincent Adler to the rest of the team yet. They had the remainder of the week to prove they had a solid lead in the case before they officially reopened it. If they found enough evidence, they would expand the investigation. If they couldn't back up Kate's story, they would drop it.

Peter spent the morning with Tricia Wiese, who had the most complex case to turn over. August Hitchum wasn't happy to take over a case midstream, and Peter had to smooth some feathers. He also made a note in Hitchum's file about the agent's increasingly poor attitude. It took very little to antagonize the man these days, and the rest of the team avoided working with him.

In the afternoon Peter led the trio back to one of the few conference rooms that didn't have glass walls. As they entered the room Tricia raised a brow, and said, "This is something big, isn't it?"

"It could be," Peter said, and closed the door before he filled them in on their new assignment. Jones would take the lead on the research, looking into the ownership of the Enscombe estate, and the lease agreement with Highbury. They needed to find a link between Adler and the Highbury retreat before they could get approval to send Neal in to crack the safe in the master suite. Tricia would look into the options for surveillance. A municipal van would be noticed on the estate grounds, and they needed an alternative for monitoring Neal if they sent him undercover. Neal would respond to the invitation Highbury had sent Nick Halden, and arrange to stop by their Manhattan offices. Peter stressed that Neal should make the appointment for a time when there would be plenty of people around, and he should remain in public areas at all times.

Neal made a token protest that he knew what he was doing, but not with the vehemence Peter had expected. Peter knew he should be happy at the lack of resistance, but instead he worried. He sent his agents on their way, and told Neal, "Let's look at Halden's resume and update it for the time since Adler's company folded. We can pull in some favors from a few companies in town, and get one or more of them to confirm you've been an employee in good standing."

"Sure."

The lack of comment did nothing to reassure Peter. "What, no complaint that when you do it, it's a fraud but when the government does it, it's fine?"

Neal looked at him blankly a moment, and grinned belatedly.

Peter crossed his arms. "I know that smile. It's the one you use when you need to convince someone you're happy. Stop trying to con me, and tell me what's bothering you. Is it Kate? Because I have to tell you, if she's telling the truth and we get to Adler, no one's going to care about making a case against her. She'll probably be treated as a witness rather than a suspect."

"Good." He didn't sound as pleased as he should have, but before Peter could follow up, he added, "I have an appointment to talk to a therapist on Saturday."

Peter nodded. He knew Neal wasn't thrilled about that mandate. Maybe his reticence today was due to annoyance at having capitulated to Hughes' demand. He decided against admitting that he'd spoken to Henry about it. "I'm glad you're taking that step. It won't be fun. But in the end you'll be better off, and I can give you the kind of case work you really want."

"You're sending me to Highbury even without a therapist's clearance," A portion of his normal smugness returned to Neal's voice.

"Only for an initial contact, and I want you in and out again in under an hour. There is no way you're going to one of their initiation events until your therapist agrees you can handle it."

"We only have a couple of weeks to get into that safe," Neal said.

"That's assuming we believe Kate. She could have made up that deadline to pressure you into acting quickly, before you could think things through. That's why we have Jones looking into the actual lease agreement."

Neal nodded and volunteered to find Nick Halden's resume. He returned with it shortly, and they busied themselves updating it. Then they responded to the email Highbury had sent, providing Halden's resume and expressing interest in learning more about Highbury's services.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Agent Tricia Wiese returned to the office shortly before 5pm. Peter looked eager to hear her report, but checked his watch and sighed. "It's getting late. We can pick this up again in the morning."

"I don't mind staying late," said Neal. It had taken him a while to get focused on work today, but having gotten there it was a welcome reprieve from the situation at the mansion.

And so they stayed another hour, with Tricia drawing a map of the area around Enscombe. "The most inconspicuous place to set up monitoring equipment within range is on the water. A sailboat would have the space we need, and could stay nearby. Enscombe has a dock we can use if we need access to the property to make an arrest."

"I hate to think what our response time would be if Neal needs help," Peter said.

"I won't need help," Neal countered.

"If I had a dollar for every junior agent who said that, I could retire now," Peter said. "What are the other options?"

Tricia pointed to Enscombe's nearest neighbor. "The next estate over has been turned into a bed and breakfast. I don't think we could bring in monitoring equipment without being noticed by the Enscombe staff, but a couple of agents could check in the night before the op, and spend the day outdoors without raising suspicion. From the B&B's beach area, someone could set up a picnic, go fishing, and easily access Enscombe's dock. There's a staircase leading up from the dock to the Enscombe buildings. If we got a distress call, we can have an agent on the scene in less than five minutes."

Peter stood up and paced the room, which Neal knew meant he was getting excited about the plan. "Let's say we have Jones at the B&B, and monitoring equipment on the water. Who do we know who has a sailboat?"

"Can't we rent one?" Neal asked.

"I'd rather not have a trail leading back to the FBI, in case the staff at Enscombe notices a boat hanging around and looks into who it belongs to. We need a boat that's not connected to us, and someone who knows how to sail it."

For the first time all day, Neal actually felt his mood brighten. He mustered his most innocent expression and said, "Henry might be able to help."

"Your cousin owns a sailboat?" Peter stopped pacing.

"No, but his grandfather on the Winslow side of the family does. All of Henry's Winslow cousins know how to sail. I'm sure Henry could talk his grandfather into letting him borrow it, and he could sail it up from Baltimore."

"Would your cousin be willing to do that for the FBI?" Tricia asked.

Neal pretended to think it over. "Well, helping the FBI, and helping me by extension, would seriously annoy Henry's father. So… Yeah, in a heartbeat." He grinned. "Of course that means Henry would be part of the op. I know he'll love the chance to work with Peter."

Peter sighed. "I'm already regretting this, but the higher ups in the Bureau would jump at the chance to see the FBI and Winston-Winslow collaborating on a case for the first time. Talk to your cousin."

_A/N: Winston-Winslow was introduced in my story By the Book. They are an investigation and security company founded by two former FBI agents in the 1960s. One of those agents was Henry's great-grandfather._

_Thanks again to Silbrith for editing and excellent beta services for upcoming chapters. Next week Peter realizes what's bothering Neal._


	7. Chapter 7 - Making Connections

**Chapter 7: Making Connections**

**New York City, White Collar Division. Thursday morning. February 19, 2004.**

For the second morning in a row, Peter looked down from his office to see Neal arrive moments before the day's briefing was supposed to start. And he wore a fedora again, dropping the hat and coat at his desk before rushing upstairs to the conference room.

At the end of the briefing, Peter dismissed everyone not working on the Adler case. Closing the door, Peter turned to face Tricia, Jones and Neal. "What did your cousin say, Neal?"

Neal looked up blankly. "Hmm?"

Peter stopped on his way back to the conference table. "What did Henry say when you asked him to bring his grandfather's sailboat to New York?"

"Oh." Neal looked into his coffee cup for a moment, and then met Peter's eyes again. It was rare to see him looking embarrassed. "I didn't get to talk to him. You want me to call him now?"

Peter saw his surprise mirrored on the faces of Tricia and Jones. Neal might still have a lot to learn about working at the FBI, but he _never _dropped the ball on a case. "Anything wrong?" Peter asked, feigning nonchalance as he took a seat.

Neal hesitated. With uncharacteristic uncertainty he said, "June's daughters and their families were over last night. I got distracted."

An unpleasant thought ran through Peter's mind. _Is this how Neal behaves when he tries to lie to his father figure? _But he simply said,"Fine. Go ahead and give Henry a call. We should find out if we need to line up another option for surveillance on the Enscombe estate. Jones, get your laptop. I know it's a longshot since we just sent the message to Highbury late yesterday afternoon, but I want us monitoring the Nick Halden email account for a response."

With Neal and Jones both out of the room, Peter turned his attention to Tricia. "If I had to guess what would make Neal behave this oddly, I'd say it's his ex-girlfriend. She was a low priority to the Bureau and dropped off our radar after we recovered what she stole on New Year's Eve. But she's clearly a player in this case, and could make things difficult for us if she's manipulating Neal. Would you look into Kate, see where she's living, what she's been up to? I think it's time to pay more attention to her."

"I'm on it," Tricia promised. She went down to her desk to start her research. Jones returned with his laptop, and was signing into the Halden email account when Neal returned.

He shrugged as he stepped back into the room. "I got voice mail. Henry's probably working a case. He usually gets back to me within a few hours."

Before Peter could respond, Jones said, "We got a bite!" Peter and Neal both moved to look at the computer screen.

"They responded first thing in the morning," Peter noted as Jones opened the email. It invited Nick Halden to stop by the Highbury Manhattan location at 11:30am to talk to a consultant and to stay for lunch.

"That's barely enough time to get the van in place. I can make some calls, get the surveillance equipment reserved to monitor Neal," Jones offered.

Peter hated to lose momentum on a case, but he had to ask, "Are you up to this, Neal?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You tell me. You've been distracted all morning. We can't afford to have this case go sideways on us. If you need time to get your head back in the game, then let's tell Highbury to reschedule."

Neal shook his head. "I'm fine. I can do this," he said with the eagerness Peter expected to hear when the kid had a chance to go undercover.

Maybe he'd overreacted. Neal would tell him if something was wrong, wouldn't he? "Make those calls, Jones."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"And here is our library," Wendy Bates said, leading Neal into a room with several computers and shelves of reference books. "It's a great place to update your resume and research companies."

Like the rest of the Highbury facilities, there was a mix of modern, high tech amenities with an old-world club feel - leather chairs, Persian rugs on the floors, wood paneling. Fifteen minutes into the tour, Wendy had barely let Neal get a word in. Now, in the empty library, Neal took advantage of her pause for breath. "You saw my resume. Does it need updating?"

"Well, Mr. Halden –"

"Nick, please."

The blue-eyed blonde nodded. She was a few years older than Neal, and wore the navy blue suit and pale blue shirt that seemed to be a uniform at Highbury. "As you like. Your resume does a good job of describing your past, Nick. But a great resume also looks to the future. I'd add a statement at the top describing your objective – something that tells a recruiter what you're looking to do next."

"What if I'm not sure what I want to do next?"

"Part of my role as a career consultant is to help you explore your options and discover what appeals to you." She moved out of the library. "And now the last stop on the tour is our dining room. I hope you'll join me for lunch so we can talk about how Highbury could enhance your career."

"How could I turn that down?" Neal asked as they entered the dining room. "Lunch smells amazing." Aware of the fact that his watch was transmitting their conversation to the van, he added, "I love a good steak." Peter was probably eating a deviled ham sandwich right now.

"Our menu is limited, but the highest quality. This way, Nick. We have a number of quiet alcoves perfect for private conversation while we dine."

After an efficient waitress took their order, Neal said, "If you don't mind my asking, how did Highbury get my name? I'd never heard of you before I got the email invitations."

"When Adler Financial Management collapsed last year, we had an influx of former employees seeking our help. They provided the names and contact information of colleagues who might also need our services. You'll find many Adler alum among our satisfied clients. In fact, you're likely to see several familiar faces at our events. An important part of the Highbury culture is maintaining your network after you find a job." She could have kept going, Neal knew, but she paused when a man approached their table. "Nick, I'd like you to meet my boss, Isaac Dixon. Isaac is one of the co-founders of Highbury Professional Connections. Isaac, Nick Halden is a former employee of Adler Financial Management."

"Another one?" Isaac said. In his late 30s, he had sandy blond hair in a buzz cut and brown eyes. "Say what you will about Vincent Adler, he recruited some excellent people."

"Will you join us?" Neal asked. He had a hunch Isaac could provide more insight than Wendy could into what the FBI wanted to know about Highbury.

"You don't have to ask me twice," Isaac said. He gave his order to an observant waitress who saw him take a seat. "Tell me what you've been doing since working for Adler."

Neal described the two jobs Peter had helped him add to his resume. "The frustrating thing is that there are jobs out there, things I'm interested in and I know I could do, but no one wants to take a chance on me. It seems like they're afraid that since I worked for a crook, I must be one, too. Everything I've done since Adler fled the country has been contract work, short-term stuff."

"You're not alone. I hear a lot of that from Adler's former team."

Neal flashed one of his most winning smiles at Isaac. "It's good to know that. Wendy was just telling me you got my name from former Adler employees. Who are some of the people you've helped?"

"It's not our practice to give out client names to non-members," Isaac said.

"I understand, but I'd like to talk to some of them about their experiences here. I'd feel better about joining Highbury if you could provide a few names as references."

In the end, Neal got three names out of Isaac Dixon. All were men who had worked closely with Adler. Thinking about what they had in common, Neal said, "Then you've probably worked with Gilbert Goddard, too."

A calculating look crossed Isaac's face before he could suppress it. In casual tones he said, "I've heard the name, but he isn't a member. A number of people have suggested he'd be a great addition to our network."

Neal nodded. "It would be good to reconnect with Gil. It's been a few months since I've talked to him."

The look crossed Isaac's face again. "You've talked to him since Adler's company folded?"

"I've run into him a few times. That looks wonderful, thank you," Neal said to the waitress who delivered his steak. He took the conversation down the path of cuisine, while pondering Isaac's reactions. Was Highbury recruiting former Adler employees hoping to get to Gil Goddard?

At the end of the meal, Isaac and Wendy made their pitch for joining Highbury. Neal reminded them that he wanted to talk to his former colleagues, but Wendy insisted he take a folder of paperwork. "Of course you can complete the application and payment online, too. I understand being cautious, Nick, but the longer you wait, the longer until you find the job that's perfect for you. There are so many great opportunities right now. I'd hate for you to hesitate and miss out on your dream job. If you can talk to your friends about us tonight, you could join us at our Long Island retreat this weekend."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

In the van, Peter was annoyed and impressed by his consultant. The extravagant praise of the fabulous meal was annoying, even though the playfulness of it reassured Peter that whatever had been bothering Neal wasn't interfering with his ability to do the job. Getting the names of Adler employees who had joined the club was impressive.

Equally impressive was getting to talk to Isaac Dixon. In the earlier investigation they had rarely been able to talk to Dixon or to anyone at his level. Dixon had only given the FBI access to representatives like Wendy Bates, who did seem to be legitimate career counselors and who acted convincingly puzzled by the Bureau's allegations.

Today Dixon was doing a hard sell on getting Neal to Enscombe that weekend, saying, "I can't emphasize enough the value our members get out of their initiation at our retreat. We make sure you meet a wide range of members and advisors who can help with your career."

Peter expected Neal to take the impulsive route, accepting the invitation and then claiming he'd have to skip the therapy session he'd planned for Saturday. Already Peter was composing the speech he'd give Neal, ordering him to tell Highbury that he'd have to postpone. They'd invent an excuse for not being able to attend, maybe another commitment Nick had forgotten.

It was something of shock to hear Neal saying, "I'm sorry, but I have another commitment this weekend. It can't be rescheduled."

"The retreat's open all week," Dixon said. "We have a constant round of events every evening, with recreation available during the day. Why don't you join us on Monday?"

Neal sighed. "The thing is, I'm pretty sure I need to attend a friend's funeral early next week. They don't expect him to live more than a day or two. After that, I'll need your retreat. But I can't make any firm commitments yet."

After a brief pause, Wendy Bates offered her condolences, and said she'd be in touch with Neal early next week to see how he was doing.

"Byron," Peter said on an exhale as he heard Neal say his goodbyes. "That's what's been bothering Neal since yesterday. I assumed it was Kate. Damn it, why didn't he say something?"

"He was telling the truth about a dying friend?" Tricia asked.

Peter nodded. There had been something heartbreakingly calm in Neal's voice when he mentioned the funeral. It was the shock of the newly bereaved. Peter remembered hearing it in his mother's voice a couple of years ago when she'd gotten the news that her father had passed away. "That's why June's daughters were at the house last night, and why he was too distracted to call Henry. It all fits. I should have put it together before this."

Tricia removed her headset. "Don't be too hard on yourself. Potentially reopening the Adler case is a massive undertaking. You've had a lot on your mind this week."

A few minutes later, they heard a knock on the doors to the van, and Peter let Neal inside.

Neal looked surprised to see Tricia. "Where's Jones?" he asked as he sat beside her.

Peter took Neal's watch and deactivated the listening device. "He got a lead on the attorney who drafted the lease of Enscombe, and I told him to follow up on it. Neal, why didn't you tell me about Byron?"

"I almost did." Neal shrugged. "But it was a relief to escape from it at work. If no one knows, I don't have to talk about it. It still keeps jumping into my mind, but at least once in a while it disappears and I have a moment of normalcy." Neal ran his hands through his hair. "That's selfish, isn't it?"

"It's human," corrected Peter, who was increasingly glad that he'd pushed for Neal to get therapy. More than ever, the kid needed someone to talk to, and this emotional stuff wasn't Peter's strength. "Do you need to take some time off?"

"June said I should save that for the day of the funeral. And I'm glad to have the distraction of the case. It's…" Neal trailed off when his cell phone vibrated. "It's Henry." When Peter nodded, Neal answered, told Henry who was with him, and put the phone on speaker. "Can we use the boat?"

"When do you need it?" Henry asked.

"Probably the last half of next week," Peter said.

"Ok. That works. Pops had plans for the weekend, but after that we can be on our way."

"Wait," Neal said. "Why is your grandfather going along? You told me you sailed it alone when you were 15."

"Well, it is his boat, and I just got the cast removed from my arm."

"And?" Neal prompted. "What didn't you tell me about the time you sailed the boat alone?"

"There may have been an incident with a sandbar that I neglected to mention. Regardless, for a trip this long, in the kind of weather we get this time of year, sailing alone isn't recommended."

"But your grandfather, of all people?" Neal said. "Doesn't Graham Winslow hate the FBI?"

"If I want Winston-Winslow and the FBI to start getting along, I need to convince some of the older generation that this can actually work. His opinion will sway a lot of people, and there's nothing like being part of a hands-on investigation to make Pops happy. By the way, Peter, that makes this an official service Win-Win is providing the FBI. You'll have to sign a standard contract and pay us."

"I understood Graham is retired from Win-Win," Peter objected.

"He's not involved in day-to-day operations, but he's still on the board of directors. And I'll have to turn down other work to help you with this case. Win-Win will expect compensation for my time."

"Fine. Send the contract. I'll take it through the channels for approval today." Peter rolled his eyes, but noticed Neal's grin. Maybe the kid was right. Keeping him busy and distracted might be the best thing for him. They said goodbye to Henry and Peter dove into the next question he had for Neal. "You kept mentioning Gil Goddard when you were talking to Dixon. Why?"

"Everyone Dixon mentioned as clients of Highbury reported directly to Adler and had significant responsibility. Gilbert was a member of that group. In fact, the few times Adler took a day off, he left Gil in charge. And each time I mentioned him, Dixon had this look of frustration. I think Highbury is offering its services to former Adler employees in order to find Gil."

Peter asked Tricia for the Adler file. He found an organization chart and examined it. "Goddard was the corporate accountant. That's not exactly who I'd expect to be left in charge of the company. And I remember he wasn't the slick salesman type like the rest of Adler's top executives. Can you bring up our report on Goddard's interview with the FBI?"

Tricia found the report in the FBI files and said, "Goddard was cleared after his initial interview. He was never brought back for further questioning." She scrolled down and read further. "Our file attributes the interview and recommendation to drop Goddard from our radar to Agent Hitchum. I want to ask him for more detail, because his report definitely leaves something to be desired."

"Do that," said Peter. "Neal, what else can you tell us about Goddard?"

"You're right that he wasn't the slick, self-promoting type that Adler usually preferred. For the most part he recruited a young, high-energy team. Gil was in his 50s, the oldest member of the inner retinue. He was quiet, easy to overlook, but smart and trusted by Adler. If I wanted to find Adler, or Adler's money, I'd start with Gil."

Peter leaned back in his chair. "We're talking about a networking club for job seekers, using their connections to reassemble Adler's team, and possibly drugging them to get information. Does Highbury really think they can find Adler and his money ahead of the FBI?"

"It's been more than six months since the last time our investigation was in the news," Tricia said. "They may think we've given up. What if Highbury somehow discovered he's the real owner of Enscombe? They would think they have a lead that the FBI doesn't."

"Then it's a race to find Adler before they do," Neal added.

"My gut's telling me we're missing some big pieces to this puzzle, but we have a solid start. Tricia, talk to Hitchum and add researching Gil Goddard to your list." Peter stood, as much as he could in the confines of the van. "Let's get back to the office."

"There's one more thing I should tell you," Neal said.

Peter paused on his way to the front of the van. "What's that?"

"I noticed a bulletin board at the entrance to the Highbury kitchen. One of the notices said they're looking for staff at Enscombe. Waiters and bartenders."

"We already tried sending Jones undercover as a bartender," Tricia protested. "Their background checks were too thorough."

Neal's smile was wicked. "Oh, the person I have in mind won't have that problem, and he's an expert on alcohol and bartending. If anyone can learn what Highbury's up to and be trusted to distract them while I crack a safe, it's Mozzie."

_A/N: There are sad times ahead for June and Neal. Fortunately Mozzie will make an appearance for comic relief. Next time I plan to post two chapters, getting us through the saddest parts and moving us back to the case, to angst about Neal's childhood, and to the Peter – Neal relationship. Many thanks to Silbrith for edits in chapter 7 and for virtual handholding as I got through the upcoming sad scenes._

_And for the Jane Austen/Emma fans: Character names Dixon and Bates came from Emma._


	8. Chapter 8 - Byron

**Chapter 8: Byron**

**New York City, White Collar Division. Thursday afternoon. February 19, 2004.**

_A/N: If you've read the chapters leading up to this one, you know sad times are ahead for Byron's family. If that's trigger-y for you, then when you reach the point in this chapter where Mozzie leaves you may wish to skip to chapter 9._

Peter and Jones looked up as Neal entered Peter's office. "Ok. Mozz will apply for the bartender job at Highbury, but he won't come to the Federal Building to talk about the case."

"Why not?" asked Jones.

"He won't meet with government employees unless he can sweep the location for bugs and hidden cameras first," Neal said, as if this were perfectly normal behavior.

"He's not going to give away his address," Peter guessed. "Your place?"

Neal nodded. "He said he'll be ready for us at 4:00." He plopped into the chair next to Jones and put his feet up on Peter's desk. "Alright. I'm here to help. What have we got?"

Peter swatted his feet down, concerned that Neal was being overly playful, maybe overcompensating for nerves he felt about going back to face Byron's deteriorating state at the mansion. His best recourse was to keep the kid's mind occupied with the case. "Start over, Jones."

"I found the attorney who drafted the lease of Enscombe to Highbury Professional Connections. His name is Seamus Bickerton. He used to work for a law firm here in the city, but retired about a month after Adler disappeared."

"I'd have expected Adler to use a younger lawyer," Peter said. "As Neal pointed out, he had a preference for young minds."

"Seamus is barely forty," Jones said. "He came into some money, an inheritance according to the partners at the law firm, and moved to Boston. He deposited a million dollars into his bank account shortly before Adler disappeared, and a lot more a month later."

"An incentive and a reward after Adler made a clean getaway," Neal suggested.

"That's my take," Jones agreed. "The contract lists the owner of Enscombe as Perdue Incorporated. It's a shell company that I traced back to a Vincent Perdue. I can't find anything more than a social security number for him."

"_Perdue _means lost in French," Neal said. "That was Adler's goal – to stay lost when he decided to disappear."

"It's a plausible story," Peter said, "but not hard evidence. We can't get a warrant with this. What else did you find, Jones?"

"Perdue also owns a Wilhelm Salvage. They search the coastline for sunken ships and dropped cargo. They've been operating at a loss, but somehow stay in business." Jones opened a file and displayed a photograph. "This is Vincent Adler's father. When we went after Adler initially, we didn't spend much time investigating his family. He's an only child, both parents deceased. But Adler's father immigrated to the U.S. from Germany shortly after World War II."

Peter asked, "What does this have to do with the salvage company?"

"Wilhelm was the name of Adler's father. He spent most of his career in the U.S. working at a company that builds parts for submarines. There were rumors of Germany sending loot out of the country in U-boats toward the end of the war. What if Wilhelm Adler knew something about a ship that went down off the east coast of the United States, and told his son? It's possible Adler will return when the salvage company finds what they've been looking for, because he's made sure their operating costs are covered for the next decade. It's hard to imagine Adler sinking his money into something like that unless he's expecting a big return on his investment."

"A good angle," said Peter. "We can watch the salvage company but that lead could take years to pay off. Neal, you're awfully quiet. What are you thinking?"

"I think Jones should go to Boston and talk to Bickerton."

"I can't," Jones protested. "If I ask him about Adler or Perdue, he's going to know we're on to him. He'll clam up, and might find a way get a warning to Adler."

"Don't talk to him about his client. Ask about Highbury Professional Connections. Tell him you think they're using the estate for illegal purposes, and you want the owner's permission to search Enscombe for evidence."

Impressed, Peter leaned forward. "That's good. With the owner's permission, we don't need a search warrant. Would he risk it, knowing that Adler was using the master suite?"

"He might not know Adler left anything behind," Neal said. "And if he refuses permission to search the property, that refusal could draw suspicion. He won't want the FBI looking into Enscombe's owner."

Jones nodded. "I could make that work."

"Make it work over the phone," Peter said. "That keeps it low key. For Adler we'd send an agent from New York. For a suspected blackmailer, a phone call asking for the estate owner's contact information is sufficient. If Bickerton is still acting as Adler's agent, he could grant permission on the owner's behalf. And if he says no, we can still accumulate evidence to ask a judge for a warrant."

Jones left to prepare for his conversation with Bickerton. Neal drifted toward the door, then turned around and said, "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Mozzie has an interest in those U-boat rumors."

"So?"

"Just be careful what you say around him."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"… or Hitler clones," Mozzie was saying. He'd listed a dozen different theories of what might be in a sunken German U-boat, each wilder than the last.

Peter glared at Neal, who grinned and shrugged. "I warned you," the kid said under his breath. Then he interrupted his friend. "Another glass of wine, Mozz?"

When Neal walked away to refill his friend's glass, Peter dropped the glare. He wasn't angry. His prior conversations with Mozzie had prepared him for this. Peter had walked into it willingly, aware that he and Neal were playing a game of sorts, and that Neal needed this moment of lightheartedness.

Peter had driven Neal home, and they'd entered the mansion together. June had asked Peter if he wanted to see Byron, the unspoken context being "one last time." The vibrant man Peter remembered now lay in a hospital bed. Byron turned his head toward the voices around him, but couldn't seem to form words. Peter walked to the bedside, announcing himself in the hopes that Byron remembered him, and thanked the man for acting as a mentor for Neal. He honestly didn't think Byron followed what he was saying.

And Neal… Smooth-talking Neal stood stiff and tongue-tied at the doorway. When Peter nodded toward the bed, Neal walked over, took Byron's hand and said, "Thanks, Byron. I'm going to bring fedoras back in style for you."

Peter was surprised to see Byron squeeze Neal's hand. It seemed the man was more aware of his surroundings than he'd realized. Peter wasn't sure if that made him glad, or sad. He thought maybe in Byron's place he wouldn't want to be aware. But no, he'd want to be able to hear El to the end even if he had to endure the pity of the people around him.

Neal had been silent on the way upstairs, and monosyllabic when talking to Mozzie. Peter gladly mentioned the U-boat theory to bring Neal back from whatever dark place his mind had gone.

Now Peter turned the conversation toward the investigation of Highbury, and the idea of sending Mozzie undercover as a bartender. They started building a resume for Dante Haversham, and even called El to ask if the gallery would give Dante a reference.

"Glowing reference!" the odd little man insisted while Peter spoke with his wife.

As Peter was ending the call, Mozzie said, "You aren't usually home on Thursday evenings, Neal. When are you going to tell me where you go?"

Neal checked his watch and grabbed his phone. "Be right back," he said, walking to the terrace. "Is Randy there?" he said as he closed the door behind him.

With Neal gone, Mozzie studied Peter. Suddenly he looked merely thoughtful rather than insanely manic. "We're on opposite sides, and that's never going to change as long as you're a cog in the wheel of the patriarchal government overlords. But we're both Neal's friends. Will you help keep an eye out for him? Make sure he doesn't spiral into a dark place when Byron dies?"

"Yeah. I'm planning to keep him busy with this case. That seems to help. Plus we'd already arranged for him to see a therapist this weekend about some other stuff. I assume she can talk to him about this, too."

"What _other stuff_?" Mozzie demanded.

Unsure what, if anything, Mozzie knew, Peter kept it vague. "He's had some flashbacks to events in his childhood. I need to make sure it won't happen when he's undercover."

Mozzie's eyes widened. "He told you about the abuse? He actually told you?"

"He didn't tell me," Peter protested. "I guessed."

"I knew it! I knew he was abused. You don't grow up in an orphanage and foster care and not learn to recognize the signs. But he'd never confirm it. This is why it will never work out with Kate. She has the same vibe. They each need someone whose damage isn't the same as their own. I can't believe he told you first." Mozzie paused. "Or did he?"

"What are you getting at?"

"What type of mind-control techniques did you employ to make this _guess_?"

Not willing to dignify that question with an answer, Peter said, "So Neal goes someplace every Thursday evening that you don't know about?"

"Oh I know where. I just don't know _why_. Are you planning to use your mind-control techniques to extract that answer, too?"

Neal opened the door from the terrace as Peter protested, "For the last time, the FBI does not control anyone's mind." As Neal closed the door behind him, Peter said, "Tell him, Neal. Tell him I'm not manipulating your mind.

With a wink that let Peter know the game was still in play, Neal responded, "I hear and obey, master. Oops. Not supposed to say that outside the office, am I? I mean: yes, boss."

"Ah-ha!" proclaimed Mozzie.

They convinced him they were kidding, and then put the finishing touches on their plans for Dante the bartender. Mozzie left, and Neal walked Peter back out to his car. When they were outside, Neal said, "Fedoras. That might have been the last time I talk to Byron, and all I could think of was fedoras. I'm an idiot."

"For what it's worth, I think he liked it," Peter said. "And you could go back in right now and say something else."

"I still don't know what to say. It should be something profound, shouldn't it? Conmen don't do profound. We live on the surface."

Peter sighed as he unlocked his car. "This isn't my area of expertise, but try thinking like a friend instead of a con artist."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As Neal left for work Friday morning, he offered again to stay home if June wanted. But she said no and he went to the Federal Building, relieved to get away and disgusted that he felt relieved.

He threw himself into the case, reading through the transcripts of interviews with members of Adler's team. He made note of suggested follow-up questions in case any of these people were interviewed again, and looked up where they were working now. He couldn't find anything current about Gilbert Goddard, and the man's past seemed like a bare outline. How had Agent Hitchum missed the red flags in Gil's lack of background?

In the afternoon Neal reread all of the interviews by Hitchum, forcing himself to be objective. He didn't like the agent, but the man wasn't stupid. Most of the interviews were thorough, if heavy-handed. But the transcript for Gil's was half the length of the others, and missed important, obvious questions.

Hitchum wasn't incompetent. Something, or someone, had influenced him, caused him to dismiss Gil too quickly. Neal's own father had been a dirty cop, and therefore the idea of an agent being on the take wasn't hard for him to imagine. But maybe it was too easy for him to imagine. He knew what Peter would say: _We need more evidence._

How do you prove an FBI agent is… Neal's train of thought was interrupted by his cell phone. It was June calling. The normally calm woman was sobbing, making it tricky to follow everything she said, but the message was clear. The nurse said Byron had only a few hours left. His hands were already cold. Could Neal come home?

Peter offered to drive Neal himself, but the agent was clearly in the middle of an intense conversation with Tricia about the case. "No, I got it," said Neal, and he took a cab back to Riverside Drive.

June escorted Neal to Byron's bedside. This time Neal didn't let his mind get in his way. He laid a hand on Byron's shoulder and said, "I'll remember everything you told me. All of your advice. Even the parts I don't understand yet. I'll remember how happy you were, when you talked about your family. That's…" Neal cleared his throat. "That's what I want someday, and you showed me it's not just a dream for guys like us."

Then he moved away and took a seat on the sofa beside the oldest daughter, listening to Byron's labored breathing. Eventually the room grew very quiet. The rasping ceased once and for all and June said, "He's gone."

A tiny part of Neal wanted to snap that she didn't have to say it, that it was obvious. But mostly he felt numb.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

He stayed in the music room as a series of matter-of-fact individuals arrived to transport the body and gather the clothing Byron would wear for his funeral. Neal felt it would be rude to leave, but staying felt awkward, too. He'd almost gotten up the nerve to tell June he was going upstairs to his apartment when the maid walked up to him and said, "Mr. Caffrey, your aunt is here."

He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. It was Friday evening. Noelle had sent an email days ago saying her flight would arrive Friday afternoon and she would stop by his home after checking into her hotel. They were supposed to go out for dinner.

Following the maid to the entry hall, Neal braced himself to see his mother's identical twin sister. "You're blonde," he said in surprise.

Noelle smiled up at him. At five-foot six and wearing three-inch heels, she didn't have to look up very far. She had his mother's slender build, the same face, the same green eyes, but the dark hair he expected was replaced with waves of warm blond tresses. "Yes, I went blonde after the divorce. I was considering going back to brunette recently, but thought it might be easier for you if I didn't look exactly like Meredith."

Neal nodded.

"Is this your aunt?" Neal hadn't noticed June approach, but here she was, taking Noelle's hands and being the gracious hostess even in mourning.

"Yes," Neal said. "Noelle Winslow, this is my landlady, June Ellington. It's… She's…" His mind faltered at any attempt of describing what had happened today.

"My son told me about Byron, and the maid told me he passed this afternoon," said Noelle. "I'm so sorry for your loss, and to intrude at such a time. Would you mind if I stole Neal away for a little while? Or I can come back later, if you prefer."

June laid a hand on Neal's shoulder for a moment. "Take all the time you need."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

They went to a restaurant, ordered, and made desultory conversation as they ate. At the end of the meal Neal couldn't recall a single word that they'd said. He reached for the check, and Noelle covered his hand.

He looked into her eyes, which seemed to see right into him. "Tell me," she said.

"Tell you what?"

"There's something running through your mind. You don't want to say it, don't want to think about it, but it won't go away. Let it out. I won't judge."

His hand clenched under hers. Taking a deep breath, he stared at his fist on the table and said, "I didn't want to be there." Another deep breath, followed by a rush of words. "I didn't know what to do. I always know what to do, what to say, and this time I had no idea. Like a total coward, I hoped it would happen while I was away. That I wouldn't have to see it happen. But they called, and I came home, and I was there."

"Was it disturbing?"

Neal finally looked up at his aunt. "One of his daughters described it as peaceful when she called family members to let them know. I guess it was. But it was… Yeah, it was disturbing. Every time I take a breath, or hear you breathe, I hear an echo of him during those last hours."

"Are you sad?"

He pulled a credit card out of his wallet. "I should be."

She took the credit card out of his hand and pushed it back across the table. She placed her own card on the bill, and an unobtrusive waiter whisked it away. "You'll feel a wide range of emotions after the shock wears off. The shock is a coping mechanism, and it's perfectly normal. You don't have to feel guilty about not feeling anything right away. The emotions are still there, and they'll rise to the surface soon enough."

Neal frowned. "I don't get why I'm in shock. I've known for weeks that this was coming. We knew this morning that it would be today. I knew when I left work that it was imminent. How much more prepared could I be?"

"Would you say you're an optimist?" When Neal nodded, Noelle continued, "You had hope. To the very last second, some part of you believed that there was a way out, a way to save him."

"There should have been," Neal said, more vehemently than he expected. Some of the numbness was wearing away.

"Yes, sweetheart, there absolutely should have been. But you have to accept that there wasn't."

_A/N: I've read that grief hits different people in different ways. The reactions of Neal and others in this story are based on the experiences of my family last year, and I do wish Noelle had been there for us as we struggled with our own grief._

_I've brought Neal to a low point here, but please keep reading. Life goes on and Neal's friends will help him through this. Soon he'll be undercover at Enscombe, driving Peter crazy and getting into trouble again._


	9. Chapter 9 - Therapy - The Facts

**Chapter 9: Therapy - The Facts **

**New York City. Friday night. February 20, 2004.**

_A/N: I have no expertise in therapy. The scenes with Noelle in this story are constructed to be dramatic, rather than realistic. And the drug she mentions is a figment of my imagination._

After dinner, Neal and his aunt Noelle took a cab back to her hotel. They arranged to meet the following morning, and then Neal decided to walk the rest of the way home. It was a cold night but dry, and Neal wanted the solitude of a long walk.

His cell phone buzzed, and he saw it was Peter. He should have called, he realized, to let Peter know Byron had died. And now he stared at the phone, undecided about whether to answer, until the call went to voice mail. He resumed walking.

About 15 minutes later the phone buzzed again. This time it was Henry. Neal still didn't feel like talking, but he supposed he should answer or people would keep calling. "Yeah?" he said by way of greeting. "Did Peter call you?"

"He did," confirmed Neal's cousin. "I reminded him that Mom was arriving tonight and you were probably busy. Then I called her and she filled me in. I'm sorry about Byron. He was a great guy."

"He was." Neal continued walking.

"You ok?"

Neal sighed. "I had weeks, you know? Plenty of time to tell him how much I appreciated everything he'd done: all of his advice, letting me have the apartment for such a low rent, the way he cared about whether I succeeded. But I put it off. Instead I distracted him with songs or stories about things I'd done, or listening to his stories. I waited to the very last minute, and I have no idea if he heard me. Hell, I don't even know if I was coherent."

"He wanted that distraction. He needed it."

"But just once I could have –"

"Don't go there," warned Henry. "You'll never escape from the trap of _could haves_. He didn't ask for more, did he?"

"No, but…" Neal ran his free hand through his hair as he stopped at a light. "I really don't want to think about this. Can we talk about something else?"

Henry paused, and Neal half expected to be told avoidance wouldn't help. But instead his cousin said, "Pops' weekend commitment turned out to be only Saturday. We'll head up starting Sunday, and probably get to New York Tuesday afternoon. If Peter's available we'd like to meet with both of you for dinner to catch up on the case."

"You can sail up here that fast?"

The answer to that was lengthy, involving an explanation that the boat was actually docked in Delaware, and a review of possible routes and stops on the way to New York. Neal didn't have the sailing experience to follow it all, but imagining the trip with the ocean air and the rocking of the waves was a welcome distraction. He let Henry's words wash over him until he reached the mansion and had to say goodbye. Henry said he'd call Peter, and Neal supposed he should offer to do it himself, but was glad to let Henry break the news of Byron's death.

As soon as he opened the front door he heard the crying. The youngest of Byron's daughters was in tears in the front room. Fortunately her husband was comforting her, and a moment later her older sister entered the room to offer an apology for something she'd said. Neal slipped upstairs without being noticed.

He changed out of his suit into something more casual and started to paint.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter had sent Jones and Tricia home before he tried calling Neal Friday night. It had been a hectic day and evening, as they hit the deadline Hughes had imposed for gathering enough information to tie Vincent Adler to their Highbury case. Following Neal's suggestion, Jones had contacted Seamus Bickerton about the Enscombe estate and asked for the owner's contact information. Jones had explained their suspicion that Highbury was conducting illegal activities on the property, and Bickerton had taken the bait. He wouldn't provide contact info, but promised to get in touch with the owner. The attorney said he'd have a response for the FBI on Monday, and indicated he would recommend that Perdue Incorporated authorize the search. He also sent a copy of the lease to Jones.

The lease had proven that Kate did have inside information about the owner of Enscombe. She had been telling the truth when she told Neal the master suite had been reserved for the owner's sole use through the end of February. That lent credence to her claim that Adler was the owner.

They were debating whether Bickerton really intended to contact the owner, and whether they could get a warrant for a tap or for his phone records, when the case took an unexpected twist. Jones had been monitoring the Nick Halden email address in case any new messages arrived from Highbury, and instead a message arrived from Bickerton. It said Halden's "former employer" had recommended he contact Nick "to recover an item" and he needed to know if Nick could do it or recommend someone else who would be available in the next week. He also mentioned "Ancient Lyre" as a phrase that would convince Nick that this was a legitimate request from a client who could afford to pay very well.

Hughes had listened to the update on the case that evening with few questions. Peter concluded with, "Our main concern had been that Bickerton would grant permission to search all of Enscombe except for the master suite. But now it appears that won't be an issue, since he's unwittingly contacted an FBI employee to break into the safe we wanted to search."

"You've done a good job. All of you," Hughes said, with a nod to Jones and Tricia. "I'd still like to keep it quiet that we have an active lead on Adler. The man clearly has resources we weren't aware of, and I don't want to risk a leak that could jeopardize our case. Peter, can I have a word with you?"

The others left, recognizing the request as a dismissal. "You can trust them," Peter said to his boss.

"They're good people. But I want to talk about Caffrey. He's deeply ingrained in this case. We wouldn't have this lead without him, and it appears we can't go forward without his participation. Just a few days ago you convinced me he shouldn't go undercover without clearance from a therapist. Do you trust he's ready to handle this assignment?"

"He has an appointment with a therapist on Saturday."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Peter promised he'd check with the therapist after that appointment. But although he didn't admit it to Hughes, he did have concerns. A single appointment did not seem sufficient to deal with Neal's childhood issues, and the situation with Byron only made things worse.

Now Peter waited at his desk for a return call from Henry. He grabbed the phone the moment it started to ring. "How is he?" he demanded.

"As good as could be expected," said Henry. "Byron died late this afternoon. My mother arrived about an hour later, and took Neal out for dinner. She'll keep an eye on him tomorrow. He doesn't really want to talk right now, but that's not unusual. He'll need some time to take it all in."

"What can I do?" Peter asked.

Henry sighed. "You're one of those people who want to fix things, aren't you? You aren't going to like this. All you can do is be patient and give him space. Be willing to listen when he's ready to talk, but don't push him."

"Does he need to take time off?"

"Not necessarily. He'll probably want to dive into work to keep his mind occupied with something other than grief. Is this case I'm helping with one that can challenge him?"

"It involves going undercover to take down a criminal mastermind and cracking a safe."

"Sounds perfect," said Henry.

But Peter had doubts. How did he weigh the benefits of using this case to keep Neal distracted from grief – over losing Byron and over the realization that Kate may have been using him – against the risks that it would result in a drug-induced flashback that could endanger him?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Saturday morning Neal's phone emitted the tone that indicated a text message. It distracted him from staring at his kitchen shelves for breakfast inspiration. He saw it was 9:00 already, and the text was from Peter: "Going to therapy today?"

When he thought about it, Neal was surprised that more than 12 hours had gone by since Peter's last attempt to contact him. Henry had something to do with that, he guessed. Neal texted back: "Yeah."

Neal knew as soon as he hit _send _that he should have written more. Peter would have expected sarcasm or annoyance. The lack would worry him. And only seconds later Peter sent: "You ok?"

Neal considered saying _yeah _again, but responded back with the more accurate: "Tired."

Then he sat down to a bowl of cereal, which he stirred more than he ate, and was surprised to find an hour had gone by when Noelle knocked on his door at 10:00.

She didn't hide her curiosity as Neal opened the door to his apartment. He noticed her perfume as she walked by, the same spicy scent his mother used to wear. "Can I have the tour?" his aunt requested, and he walked her around the space, including the terrace. Back inside, she stopped in front of the easel. The painting was almost complete, a study in blues with a slash of yellow pouring over the rest. "Give me the artist's perspective on this one."

"Byron and June are… were… music lovers. They especially loved Sinatra and jazz. The blue is a representation of the music, the harmony of their lives with its light and dark aspects. The yellow is the jarring note, the rending apart of their lives."

"The way you've depicted it, it almost looks like the canvas was slashed, with light pouring through from the other side. It's jarring, but not dark or depressing." Noelle looked around the room, noting a set of canvases leaning against the wall. "You have some impressive work here, but this one is especially powerful." She studied the piece on the easel a little longer. "It's beautiful and haunting."

Neal shrugged. "Painting calms the nerves."

"It's acting as art therapy, then." She studied him as intensely as she had the painting. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Not much," he admitted. After hours of painting, he'd tried to sleep with little success. And he didn't want to mention the nightmare, the first one he'd had in weeks.

"Neal?"

He stopped staring at the painting to look at his aunt. Great. He'd lost his concentration and missed something. "I'm sorry."

"I was asking how you spend a normal Saturday, sweetie."

"I'd go to a museum or art gallery, grab lunch and then come back here to…" He swallowed. "I'd play the piano."

Noelle laid a hand on his arm. "What's wrong?"

Neal shook his head. "How did you want to start? Do we hold the session here?"

"No. Not here, and not yet. We need to return some normalcy to your life first. Take me to one of those museums or galleries."

June approached them as they walked downstairs to tell Neal the funeral would be Tuesday. He promised to be there, and asked if she had selected a song.

"I considered 'Young at Heart' because he loved hearing you sing that, but a couple of days ago Byron suggested 'Let It Be.' I think… I think he knew that's what I need to hear."

"Then that's what I'll I do," Neal promised. It was tempting to rush out, but he took a deep breath and asked the question that had popped into his mind when he told Noelle about his normal Saturdays. "June, do you want me to move out now that… now that Byron's gone?"

His landlady's eyes widened. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"When you told me about the apartment, you said you wanted someone who could distract Byron with music and appreciate his stories. Now that he's gone…" Neal shrugged. "You don't need me now, and you could make a lot more money renting the space to someone else."

June crossed her arms. "Neal Caffrey, you listen to me. You are like family. If you aren't comfortable here, you are free to leave whenever you want, but I am not about to toss you into the streets. Your home is here as long as you want it to be." Her outrage was broken by a sniffle. She reached up kiss Neal's cheek. "Now spend some time with your aunt. Maybe she can talk some sense into you."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After a stroll through the Channing museum and a leisurely lunch, Noelle recommended they use her hotel room for their first therapy session. She said using a neutral location would be better than having him associate his apartment with the painful memories they might cover.

They were only a few blocks from the hotel, and Noelle was willing to walk when Neal suggested it. He watched the people and traffic, slightly bewildered. "Nothing's changed," he said. "An incredible man is gone, and it didn't even make a ripple." He shook his head. "I know that people die every day and things go on the same as before. But this time it doesn't seem right."

Noelle squeezed his arm through his coat. "It doesn't seem right or even conceivable to have a world without him. Someone should have figured it out, stopped the world, and fixed it."

Neal looked at her in surprise. "Exactly. How did you know?"

"I lost my brother last summer. That's how it hit me: that it was a mistake. It was unimaginable that the world could go on without him, and that people didn't notice how _wrong _it was. Such things couldn't be allowed to happen in a well-ordered universe."

Neal took her hand. "I wish I'd known my uncle David."

"So did he, sweetheart. He regretted not getting to watch you grow up, and it's a tragedy you weren't able to meet him as an adult." As they entered the hotel lobby she added, "I had experience with grief before last year. When the Marshals took you and my sister away, it was a tremendous loss. I thought I was prepared for the reality of never seeing either of you again, but it was still a huge adjustment. At first I kept thinking there should have been another way to deal with the danger you were in. I had to get past that before I could accept you were both gone."

Noelle's suite had a small living room with a sofa and generously-sized arm chair. After taking off their coats, Noelle directed him to the sofa, and offered him a bottle of water. She curled up in the chair. Before she could ask Neal about the abuse, he went on the offensive. "You've talked to Henry, and to my mom. How much do you already know about what happened to me?"

"I need to hear it all in your words."

"I get it, but I want to know if you… if you know more than I do."

"How could I?" Noelle countered. But when Neal simply stared at her, she sighed. "Henry guards his privacy and yours zealously. All he said was that you had experienced a childhood trauma and repressed part of it, and that he's worried about you. You know I've managed to speak with your mother every year around Christmas since she went into WITSEC, against the wishes of the Marshals. The Christmas you were nine, she told me she'd dated someone who had hurt you. She admitted that her alcoholism had blinded her to what was going on for a while, and said that after he was out of her life, she went to rehab. She said it helped, but that she was still drinking occasionally."

Neal rolled his eyes. "That's all she said – that her boyfriend hurt me? She never gave more detail?"

"I don't believe she meant to diminish the severity of what you suffered, Neal. She understandably wanted to put the experience behind her, and she wanted to protect me. When she mentioned it, you were a few months from your tenth birthday, and Henry had recently turned 12. Meredith knew that any details she provided I'd imagine happening to my own son. At the time I was grateful she spared me. Knowing what happened and being unable to do anything for either of you would have been torturous. I can't tell you how much I regretted that I couldn't be there for both of you. But now I can help you, and that starts with hearing your perspective of what happened."

A sudden attack of nerves had Neal popping up to pace around the room. "Like Henry said, a lot of the memories are repressed. How are you supposed to help me deal with things I can't even remember?"

"Some of those memories are coming back already, aren't they?"

A snippet of last night's nightmare replayed and he suppressed a shudder. "Yeah."

"We start with talking through the parts you do remember, and the memories that are making their way back. Then we'll see how to open the door to the rest."

"How will you know I'm telling the truth?"

Noelle smiled. "I'm good at reading people. The more time we spend together, the more I'll be able to identify the signs that you're withholding something. And hopefully, the more you'll trust me. Remember, all of this is to help you. The more open and forthcoming you are, the better and faster we can work through this."

Neal perched on the arm of the sofa. "Why don't therapists just get their patients roaring drunk and learn what you want that way?"

"While it's true that alcohol reduces inhibitions, it's not a truth serum."

"But sometimes drugs are used in therapy," Neal said.

"That's more common in psychiatry than in psychology. And a standard truth serum doesn't help you access repressed memories. There is a new drug that seems to bring down the walls patients have built around repressed memories, but that's intended as a last resort. Therapists are still evaluating how a drug-based retrieval of memory affects the patient. It's certainly not an experiment I want to try on you. Enough procrastinating, Neal. Sit back down and tell me about your mother's boyfriend."

Neal recited the story without emotion. Vance had worked at a local bank. He'd started dating Neal's mother when Neal was in third grade, shortly after Thanksgiving. Sometimes he'd take Neal to a nearby park, where they played football or other games. And if Neal came back with a bruise, people smiled and said it was good the boy finally had a man in his life, someone who would encourage him to be active and roughhouse.

The more Vance became a fixture in their life, the more Ellen Parker made herself scarce, not wanting to intrude on her friend's blossoming romance.

Around the end of January, Neal's mother needed to go out of town a few days on a business trip. Normally Neal would have stayed with Ellen, but Vance volunteered to stay at the house and look after the boy. That's when the bumps and bruises escalated from an annoyance to serious. Vance knocked Neal around when waking him up in the morning, careful to hit him around the ribs and belly, where the bruises wouldn't be seen at school.

Soon after Meredith returned home from the business trip, Vance moved in with them. He took over the job of waking Neal in the morning, and of enforcing bath time. He was able to keep Meredith from noticing Neal's bruises, and the violence escalated.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Noelle asked, bringing Neal back to the here and now.

"I'd wanted a dad for so long. And everyone kept saying how lucky we were to have Vance." He shrugged. "For all I knew, it was normal. When people talked about how I'd been missing a man's influence in my life, I assumed they knew exactly what his influence was and they were ok with it."

"What happened next?"

Neal let his mind return to St. Louis in the late 1980s. "Eventually I was in serious pain. Bruised ribs became a normal part of my life. I started whining at night when he mentioned bed time. I didn't want to go to bed, because going to bed and being woken up meant being hit. Mom didn't notice, but one evening Ellen was over, and expressed concern. That night Vance started warning me not to complain, and not to tell anyone. He said if I told, he'd hurt my mom, too. From then on, it became part of the ritual. Before and after hitting me he'd make me promise not to tell, or he would hurt Mom."

"How did your mother become aware of what was happening?"

"I think the first clue was when I started having nightmares. That was probably the middle of February. I have no idea what I screamed before they woke me up, but it must have worried Vance. After a week of that he said it had to stop, or he'd hurt my mom. I had to figure out how to stop having bad dreams. The only way I knew to do that was not to sleep."

"That solution couldn't have worked for long."

"No, it didn't. Within a few days I fell asleep in school. They assumed I was sick and took me to the school nurse, who called my mom to pick me up. It wasn't easy for her to get away from work during the day, but Ellen's schedule was more flexible, and Mom asked her to get me. Ellen took me to her house, where I fell asleep again and had one of the nightmares. It didn't take her long to unravel the truth from there. She told mom to come alone to pick me up, and then showed her the bruises. Ellen told Mom I might have a fractured rib. They took me to a hospital to get an official exam on the record for evidence. Next thing I knew, Vance was out of the picture. Looking back, I'd guess Mom called the Marshals and they got rid of him." Neal stretched, trying to loosen up muscles that had tightened with tension. "March rolled around, we celebrated my ninth birthday and thought we'd seen the last of Vance. But he reappeared in April." Neal fell silent, lost in his memories of that time.

Noelle tolerated his silence for a couple of minutes. "You have to tell me, Neal. If you want that clearance to do undercover work for the FBI, we can't stop now."

Neal rubbed his face. "Maybe I'm having second thoughts about going undercover at Highbury. I'm not sure I can…" He trailed off. Suddenly his mind was making connections between the case and what Noelle had said at the beginning of their session. "We think Highbury is drugging their clients, getting them to reveal secrets that can be used for blackmail. The clients all blackout, and don't have any memories of what happened to them. That's why we suspect a drug as opposed to simply getting them drunk. Could the drugs used in therapy have that effect?"

"You know I'm not going to let this distract me from hearing the rest of your story."

"Yeah, yeah, you're as stubborn as Henry. I get it." Neal stood up and walked around the room once, stopping to stand in front of Noelle. "Humor me. Are there drugs you know of that could be used in that kind of blackmail scheme? If we could narrow it down, we could check for police reports of that drug being stolen and trace the thefts back to Highbury."

Noelle closed her eyes a moment, appearing lost in thought. Then she focused on Neal again. "Yes."

"And?"

"And, I will tell you about them after we finish this session."

Neal huffed out a sigh of frustration, but returned to the sofa. He picked up one of the throw pillows and held it close. "In late April Vance cornered me when I cut through a wooded park on my way home from school. He knocked me down and broke my arm." He clutched the pillow more tightly. "And that's all I remember, until I woke up in a hospital. I know that Vance abducted me, and that I had several broken bones and fractures when I was found the next morning. I missed the rest of the school year, but they let me go into fourth grade with the rest of my class in the fall." He paused. "Vance went to prison, and Henry did some research into the trial transcripts. He learned that a man tried to help me, and Vance shot him. Apparently in one of my flashbacks I said it was my fault he was shot. When I got out of the hospital, I stayed with Ellen for a few weeks while Mom went to her first round of rehab. I was enrolled in art classes to regain fine motor control in my arm, and to express the things I couldn't or wouldn't say about my experiences." He'd been staring at the coffee table while he spoke, although he'd been seeing scenes from long ago. Now he looked up to face Noelle. "Your turn. Tell me about those drugs."

She shook her head. "That was a very well-rehearsed account of the facts, but this session isn't over. Now we're going to talk about the parts you left out."

_A/N: More to come next week. Peter will be back in chapter 10 to check on Neal in person, and El will see Neal's apartment for the first time. I can't begin to thank Silbrith enough for beta work on these last two chapters. Her suggestions vastly improved chapter 9. She also predicts that reaction to Noelle will be varied, and I'm looking forward to what you think. Noelle had to be distant and professional in this latest scene, but she will be free to think and act like an aunt later. _


	10. Chapter 10 - Therapy - The Emotions

**New York City hotel room. Saturday afternoon. February 21, 2004.**

_A/N: I have no expertise in therapy. The scenes with Noelle in this story are constructed to be dramatic, rather than realistic. And the drug she mentions is a figment of my imagination._

After sharing the story of his childhood abuse, Neal was dismayed at the reaction of his therapist, who had just accused him of withholding information. "I told you everything," he insisted. "Everything I can remember."

Still in cool, professional therapist mode, his aunt Noelle said, "You told me a series of events. That's a good start, but therapy involves your emotions around those events."

"Can't we cover that next week?"

"We'll be covering that for several weeks, but we're going to make a start now. Let's start with Vance."

Neal made the mistake of believing that talking about Vance would be easy. His feelings about the man were straightforward enough. From the beginning he'd disliked and distrusted the man who had abused him. At the insistence of his mother he'd been polite, but had held to one small act of rebellion: he refused to call Vance _Dad_.

But that led Noelle to the topic of father figures. Soon Neal was telling her about the gifted art teacher who had stolen and sold Neal's best reproduction work as a forgery when Neal was a teenager. And then he admitted his third father figure had been Robert Winslow – Henry's father. He described trying to win Robert's approval, only to be tricked into committing a crime. Robert had kept the evidence and used it to blackmail a 21-year-old Neal into parting ways with his cousin Henry. Other than a raised brow, Noelle refrained from comment about the references to her son and ex-husband.

"I'm sorry," Neal said when he had finished talking about his experiences with Robert.

"Why?"

"Well, Robert… You married him. You must have had feelings for him. It feels weird to trash him in front of you."

"He's my ex for a reason. And we aren't here to talk about my feelings. Did you have another father figure in the years that followed?"

"Sort of." The next man who claimed to be a father figure in Neal's life had been Vincent Adler. Neal stressed that while he had learned a lot from the man and admired his strategic thinking, he hadn't formed a strong emotional attachment toward him. "Shortly before he disappeared he said something about me being like a son, and at that point I started to distrust him."

"That was nearly a year ago," Noelle noted. "Do you have a new father figure in your life now?"

"Yeah." Neal desperately wanted to avoid talking about Peter. "I'm really… I'm not ready to talk about him."

"Why is that?"

"Listen, I know my father figures have been messed up. You're going to start asking me what's wrong with this one. I would in your place. But I got it right this time, I swear. Even Henry approves of him. I just… Please, let me keep this one. I've lost Byron. I think I'm losing Kate. Let me keep Peter a little longer."

Noelle seemed to melt a little bit. "It isn't my role to take anything away from you, Neal, and I'm sorry if it feels that way. We can wait to talk about Peter." She directed the conversation toward Ellen Parker, and listened as Neal described the woman as a hero, a rescuer who had uncovered the truth about the abuse and who had kept Neal safe while his mother was in rehab. He said he felt no resentment about the time it had taken Ellen to realize that he was being abused. "And what about your mother?" Noelle asked. "Do you resent her role in your abuse?"

Neal frowned. "She didn't abuse me."

"She didn't prevent the abuse. She introduced the abuser into your life and didn't notice what was happening to you. How does that affect your emotions toward her?"

"I was angry that she spent more time drinking than taking care of me. It seemed like she loved beer more than me. After it was over, I didn't trust her to take care of me. I knew I had to look after myself."

"You didn't view her stints in rehab as choosing to be a better mother?"

"Maybe if it had worked. But she never stayed dry for long. If I was supposed to be her motivation to stop drinking, then I failed." Neal caught Noelle's expression. "I know, I know. It wasn't my failure. Alcoholism is a disease and no one is to blame. I get it. I didn't trust her, but I loved her."

Noelle nodded. "When Vance threatened to hurt her, you obeyed rather than endanger your mother."

"Right." Neal grabbed the bottle of water, and as he drank he was grateful Noelle hadn't picked up on the other emotion his mother motivated: terror. "We've covered all the players in my little childhood drama. Can we talk about the drugs Highbury could be using?"

"There's one more character to discuss today," Noelle said. "Do you resent me, or your mother's family in general, for not being there for you?"

"At the time I didn't even know you existed," Neal protested. "That was a condition of being in WITSEC, that Mom couldn't tell me we had any living relatives."

"But you've known about us for a few years now."

Neal leaned back in the hotel sofa and closed his eyes a moment before saying, "You know Trent Lombard came to talk to me last month."

"Yes. As your uncle David's best friend and as your godfather, he played a part, too. And he wasn't always happy about his part. I was your godmother, and the two of us had massive disagreements about whether you should go into WITSEC with your mother, or go with David and his family when he was deployed overseas. In the end I won out. I was certain it was best for you and your mother to stay together. I'm asking how you feel about that."

"Things might have been better growing up as David's foster son, but who knows? There's evil everywhere. If not Vance hitting me in St. Louis, it might have been someone else hurting me on an Air Force base. Maybe someone worse. We could talk what-ifs all day and it won't change the past."

"And you still avoided talking about your feelings."

"I don't know what I feel toward you, ok? I don't even know you. If you want forgiveness, then fine. Henry says you're a decent person and I believe you meant the best for my mom and me. Now can we finish this and get back to how Highbury is getting blackmail information from their clients?"

"And you think I'm stubborn. I wish you could feel more open with me, and not edit yourself, but you've done well for a first session. I can see you need to stop. I won't push you for more today. But we will return to some of these subjects again next week." Noelle had seemed perfectly calm throughout the session, but as she relaxed Neal could see the tension leaving her body. She put her feet up on the coffee table and let herself slouch. "The drug I'd use for that kind of blackmail scheme is informally known as Flashback. It has some properties of a truth serum, and also targets negative emotions, particularly the kind of fear that constructs and maintains a wall around bad memories. With those emotions relaxed, it's easier to approach and express those memories in therapy. For someone who isn't suffering from repressed memories, it would simply allow him or her to feel comfortable talking about topics they normally avoid."

"Things they could be blackmailed for."

"That's right. And a side effect of the drug is a blackout accompanied by a lack of concern about the lost time." Noelle grabbed a sheet of paper from the side table and a pen, and wrote down a name. "Here's the medical name of the drug. That's what it would be called in a psychiatrist's office or in a police report. Henry can tell you who manufactures it. He's done some research into it."

"Why would he research something like that?"

"He said it was for Win-Win. I've avoided the company as much as I can ever since the divorce, so I didn't ask for details."

Neal wondered if Winston-Winslow was looking into Highbury, too. If so, why hadn't Henry mentioned it when they asked to use the sailboat for a surveillance of Enscombe?

Because, Neal realized, he hadn't mentioned Highbury or Enscombe when he'd spoken to his cousin. They weren't planning to share those details until Henry and Graham Winslow got to New York. If the FBI and Win-Win had overlapping investigations, life could become very complicated. Fortunately, Henry and Neal specialized in complicated. Maybe they could use this to end the feud between the FBI and Win-Win. Unless, of course, things went wrong and they made it worse. Then one or both of them might be out of a job.

"This is going to get interesting," Neal said. "Now I need that statement from you that I'm ready for undercover work."

"Neal, sweetheart, I don't think you are. Especially if that undercover work involves being exposed to a drug like Flashback."

Neal nodded. "It's your call. The deal was that you provide a statement clearing me for undercover work after our first session, and then I'll continue meeting with you every week. If I don't continue, you can rescind your approval. If you don't keep your part of the bargain…"

"Then you don't continue with therapy."

"Are you going to sign a statement for my FBI file or not?"

"Fine. You need therapy, and I'm going to make sure you get it. But approach this case you've described with caution, Neal. It would be a very bad idea for you to take Flashback without a professional therapist there to help you navigate the memories you'll recover."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter called June Ellington Saturday afternoon to offer his condolences. She mentioned that many family members and friends were converging on New York for the funeral, and she had decided to hold an open house Sunday evening for all of them to gather and remember Byron. Peter and Elizabeth would be welcome, she said. Eager for an excuse to see how Neal was doing, Peter accepted the invitation.

As much as Peter wanted to look for Neal immediately, he had to be patient. El had never visited the Ellingtons' home before, and needed a few minutes to ooh and aah over the stunning mansion. Then she started to recognize some of the guests, pointing out legendary jazz musicians. Finally she looked at her husband and said, "Go ahead, Peter. I know you're worried about Neal."

"Are you sure?" he asked, to be certain he wouldn't be in the dog house later.

"Honestly, I'll enjoy myself more if you aren't tagging along checking your watch every two minutes because you don't know the first thing about music. I'm going to talk to some inspiring people, offer my condolences to June if I can find her in this crush, and then I'll meet up with you again."

"Love you, hon," Peter said, and went on the hunt for his consultant.

To his surprise, he heard Henry's voice. Wasn't Neal's cousin supposed to be on a sailboat between Baltimore and New York? But the familiar voice was saying, "It's one of the best I've ever encountered. Go ahead, try it." The young man leaned against the grand piano, his back to Peter. "Admit it. You miss this when you stay at a hotel. Play something."

"Henry, behave," said another familiar voice. Noelle Winslow. To Peter's surprise, she was blonde.

Even more surprising, Noelle's son chuckled and said, "You called me Henry."

Noelle punched his arm while saying, "No wonder Robert hated you. You must have scared him to death. Stop it, Neal."

Peter had reached them and said, "Neal?" The young man turned around. He had Henry's posture and insouciant grin, with Neal's blue eyes. Peter realized he'd never seen Neal deep in a con, playing another person. It was a little terrifying. Peter grabbed his sleeve and pulled him toward a quiet corner. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Same as you," Neal said with a shrug, still in a perfect impersonation of his cousin. "Paying my respects."

"Why are you conning people into thinking you're Henry?"

"I haven't lied to anyone, Peter. They all know me by my real name. But big family gatherings are more in Henry's comfort zone, so I thought: why not? He's better at this. And it's working."

Peter put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "I cannot believe this is a good idea."

"Avoidance rarely is," confirmed Noelle, who had followed them. "Neal, you need to stop playing a role and face how you feel about losing your friend."

"Later," Neal promised.

"Now," Peter insisted. He placed his hands on Neal's shoulders. "Neal, stop this act."

"I'm not going to –"

"Neal!" Peter interrupted. When Neal met his eyes, Peter took a deep breath and played his best card. "Son. Come back to me." He waited to see if calling Neal _Son _for the second time would be as effective as it had been in early January.

Neal shuddered. The Henry façade slipped away. Instead of Henry's indolent grace and mysterious expression that promised he was seven moves ahead of you in a game of chess, Neal's own self appeared. His posture adjusted from Henry's deceptive relaxation to his normal state. In Peter's opinion, Neal's default body language telegraphed a youthful readiness to jump into action, and his laughing eyes normally indicated that action would be tied to mischief. Now his eyes provided glimpses of a myriad of emotions, transitioning from surprise to joy to annoyance and finally filling with an uneasy grief.

Noelle gasped lightly at the transformation.

"Welcome back, kid," Peter said, relieved it had worked.

Neal pulled away, turning to gaze out the window. But Peter could see his face reflected in the glass. "Did you have to, Peter? It wouldn't have been much longer."

"Yeah, I had to. You don't have to stay here, you know. If you're uncomfortable, go back to your apartment. Don't become someone else."

"He's right," Noelle said. "Some people find comfort in gatherings like this. Those who don't shouldn't force themselves to stay. You can say goodbye in your own way. With your art, for instance." She stepped forward to hug Neal. "Don't torture yourself. Go upstairs. We'll talk again later." She let him go.

With one last glance at Peter, who nodded, Neal made his way toward the staircase. When the kid was gone from sight, Peter turned his attention to Noelle. "I'm Special Agent Peter Burke. We've spoken on the phone, when you were trying to contact Henry."

She nodded. "Neal works for you?"

"That's right. And…" How on earth did he explain this to a psychologist who also happened to be Neal's aunt? She'd heard him refer to Neal as _Son_. "And obviously he's more than an employee. A few months ago he introduced me as his stepfather, as a joke. He had the flu or some kind of virus, was running a serious fever and we were out of town. I looked after him and things sort of… evolved. I've never met someone with so much potential, and it's become my mission to see him take his talents in the right direction."

"I understand."

"You do?" Peter couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

Noelle grinned. The mischievous expression seemed to be a Caffrey family trait. "No, but I'll work on it."

After a quick scan to make sure no one was listening in, Peter said, "I know you have to maintain patient confidentiality, but can you tell me if Neal is going to be alright?"

She had a faraway look for a moment as she considered her answer. Then she looked directly at Peter, with piercing green eyes. "I can't go into details, but I'll say that it's in Neal's hands. I can help him, but therapy is most effective when the patient admits that he needs it. I don't think Neal is there, yet. But I have hope he's moving closer to that realization. That will represent a huge leap in his progress."

Peter agreed, although he'd have appreciated a more direct answer that included something he could actually do to help Neal make that leap. Then his mind wandered in another direction. "I knew Neal impersonated Henry occasionally, but I didn't realize he had it down to the point that I'd be fooled. Am I overly concerned, or was that scary?"

"I'm not sure what to make of it," Noelle admitted. "I had no idea he could do that."

"Do you think Henry impersonates Neal, too?" Peter wondered.

"If they've spent enough time together for Neal to perfect a Henry impersonation, it stands to reason… You know, I think I'd like a drink."

"Yeah, me too."

When Elizabeth tracked Peter down at the bar, he introduced Neal's aunt and then asked, "Are you ready to go?"

"I'd hoped to say hello to Neal, first. Did you find him?"

"Yeah. He went back to his apartment," Peter said. Noticing El's disappointment, and still concerned about Neal himself, he offered to show her the way.

"Are you sure he won't mind? I don't want to disturb him if he needs to be alone right now."

"If he doesn't want to talk to us, we'll leave," Peter promised.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Noelle asked. And so the three of them walked upstairs together.

It took longer than Peter expected for Neal to open the door. But seeing that he now wore black jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, Peter assumed he'd been changing clothes when they knocked.

"Neal," said Elizabeth as he opened the door, "I'm sorry to intrude. I just wanted to see you for a moment before we left." He gestured them inside and as they entered the apartment she continued, "We didn't have much of a chance to talk the last time you came to our house, and I've been meaning to invite you to visit the gallery where I work. I'd love to continue our discussion about art sometime when you…" She trailed off as she noticed the canvases leaning against one of the walls, and another on the easel. "Are these all your work?"

He nodded.

"May I?" El gestured toward the wall.

He shrugged. "Go ahead." He remained in the center of the room, arms crossed as he watched El study his work. Noelle followed Elizabeth. Peter remained near the door and studied Neal. After a couple of minutes, Neal suddenly glanced at the terrace. By the time the draft hit Peter, Neal was halfway to a door which had been slightly ajar. He moved so silently and unobtrusively that the women hadn't even noticed him cross the room and shut the door.

_Cat burglar_, Peter thought. Neal moved like one, and was dressed like one, too. It gave Peter misgivings, and he walked over to the terrace doors to talk. "You look a little tired," he started. Neal simply looked at him. "If you want to sleep in Monday, skip the morning briefing, that's fine." Still no response. He tried another approach. "We made some progress after you left Friday. Hughes gave us the green light to continue looking into Adler, and I think Bickerton will agree to let us search Enscombe for evidence of Highbury's blackmail scheme."

"Even the master suite?"

Peter suppressed a sigh of relief that the kid was finally talking to him. "Bickerton sent a message to your Nick Halden email address, asking for your help retrieving the contents of the safe. Everything's falling into place, thanks to you."

Instead of looking flattered, Neal leveled a challenging look at Peter. "I've got a clearance from Noelle that I can handle undercover work."

Considering that news for a moment, Peter asked, "What conditions did she tack on to that clearance?"

That deflated Neal a bit. "I have to continue weekly sessions with her." He turned to watch El and Noelle studying his art, and after a pause said, "Downstairs, earlier… Why did you call me that?" He looked at Peter out of the corner of his eye. "Why did you call me _son_?"

"Because you scared the hell out of me, Neal. You were standing right there in front of me, but you were gone. I wanted to make sure I could reach you. I wanted…" Peter collected his thoughts. "I wanted to let you know I care."

Neal faced Peter again. "Hearing it… After not having a real father in my life, it was a fantasy to have someone like you want me as a son. Hearing you say it makes me want to do anything for you. I don't like the idea of someone having that kind of power over me. That isn't me."

"What isn't?" Peter asked.

"Obedient."

Peter laughed. "That isn't exactly news. And obedience isn't what I want from you." Seeing Neal's skeptical expression, he added, "I admire your intelligence and the unique ideas you bring to the table. I'm not looking for blind obedience or group think, and I respect your right to make your own decisions. On the other hand, I'm glad I can shake you up a little when you're doing something that's going to get you into trouble. You know, put the brakes on before things reach the point where I have to arrest you. Or in this case, before I have to toss you to Noelle to analyze whatever's going on in your head."

A shadow of a smile crossed Neal's face. He uncrossed his arms. "She's the most –"

"Neal," El interrupted. She pulled him into a conversation about a few of his pieces, and then announced they had intruded on his time long enough.

Peter followed the women downstairs and listened as Noelle asked Elizabeth's opinion of Neal's art.

"Most of the paintings along the wall were created as practice pieces," El explained. "They're originals, but each strictly within the style of a master. It's a common technique for a student, but Neal doesn't need to hone his skills in that area. He's already capable of forging masterpieces. The most interesting of the set along the wall is the third one from the left. It's a combination of an impressionist style, a Monet I'd say, with a modernist sensibility. It's a completely unexpected palette. I've never seen anything like it."

"Do you think he has what it takes to make a living as an artist?" Noelle asked.

"The painting on the easel convinced me that he could. It doesn't entirely adhere to any existing style, making it a fascinating glimpse into a new artist exploring his own voice. If he had a few more pieces like it, he could be ready for an exhibit."

They reached the bottom of the staircase and June met them, but it was obvious that other guests wanted her attention and they didn't linger. As they stepped outside Noelle asked, "Where did Neal train as an artist? I didn't have a chance to ask where he went to school."

"He didn't," said Peter. When Noelle looked shocked he said, "He ran away before he finished high school, remember? But he said he helped Henry with his master's degree."

"Henry's master's degree? In psychology?"

"That's right," Peter confirmed.

Noelle narrowed her eyes. "And he acted like he didn't know what to expect in therapy. Next time I won't go so easy on him."

Peter didn't want to be in Neal's shoes when Noelle got her hands on him. For that matter, he didn't want to be in Henry's shoes when Noelle realized her son shared the blame for failing to disclose a few relevant facts about Neal.

"You know," Noelle continued, "I think I'm going to stay in New York for Byron's funeral. Then I can be here if Neal needs support." Her voice turned menacing. "And I can also have a little chat with Henry when he arrives." She turned to shake El's hand. "It was lovely meeting you, Elizabeth. I'll plan to stop by the gallery in the next day or so. I'd like to learn more about supporting new artists."

Peter and Elizabeth watched Noelle hail a taxi, and then faced each other.

"I like her," said Elizabeth.

Peter nodded, but he was starting to think all Caffreys were slightly insane. Especially because he'd just seen Neal scale down the side of the mansion. With his dark hair and clothing, Neal disappeared into the shadows, and Peter suppressed an FBI agent's ingrained urge to give chase. He needed to trust Neal wasn't a criminal anymore.

_A/N: I want to acknowledge everyone who posted comments or sent PMs about their own experiences with grief or abuse after reading chapters 8-9. You inspire me._

_Many thanks to Silbrith, beta-reader extraordinaire, who had excellent suggestions for this chapter. Next week in chapter 11 we'll let Neal have a little fun. And the week after that we'll have the funeral, followed by the arrival of Henry and his irascible grandfather to "help" the FBI._


	11. Chapter 11 - Escape Artist

**Outside June's mansion. Sunday evening. February 22, 2004.**

Hanging by his fingertips from the fire escape that led down from his terrace, Neal jumped, taking care to land on a patch of grass that muted the sound of his feet hitting the ground. The guitar case bumped against his back. He could hear his aunt's voice. He couldn't make out the words, but Noelle seemed to be saying goodbye to the Burkes and then hailed a cab.

Neal could have sworn Peter saw him. He slipped deeper into the shadows, half expecting the FBI agent wouldn't be able to resist investigating. But the man put an arm around Elizabeth's shoulders and walked in the other direction.

Instead of appreciating the chance to make a getaway, Neal couldn't stop thinking about the show of trust Peter had made. Maybe it was time to return the favor.

"Peter!" Neal called out, running after the couple. They paused and turned to face him. "Are you driving back to Brooklyn?" he asked them.

Peter nodded. "I'm parked a couple of blocks away. Do you need a ride?"

"If you don't mind. It's on your way."

"C'mon," Peter said. As he resumed walking Peter confirmed Neal's suspicion that the agent had seen him climb down the side of the building. "Why the dramatic exit?"

"Leaving with a guitar would gather a lot of attention, especially from that crowd. A lot of Byron's old friends are into music. I don't have a lot of time, didn't want to get into a lot of explanations, and…" He shrugged rather than continue.

"You want to stay in practice," Peter supplied.

"The FBI hired me for my skills," Neal countered. "And I want to keep my winning record for Tuesday Tails."

Peter explained to El the team's custom of tailing Neal over the lunch hour on Tuesdays to refine their skills. He wrapped up as they got settled into the car and he started the engine. "Where to?" he asked.

Neal supplied an address and added, "Theo Guy's recording studio. Michael Darling's in town and he asked me to meet them there for a rehearsal." Michael Darling, music professor, composer and former member of alternate rock group Local Devastation, had needed the FBI's help right after Peter had offered Neal the immunity deal. Working that case had convinced Neal that he could make the transition to Peter's side of the law. In gratitude, Michael had invited Neal to join an upcoming recording session where Local Devastation lead singer Ty Merchant would try out some of Michael's songs for a new solo album, to be produced by their old group's lead guitarist, Theo Guy. The chance to hang out with idols of Neal's teen years had been too tempting to pass up. He'd been counting the days until this session since early December. Glancing at the rear view mirror, Neal saw Peter's indulgent smile and realized he'd been rambling in response to a question from Elizabeth about how he'd gotten the chance to hang out with rock legends. "I know the timing's bad, with Byron. That's part of the reason I bypassed the front entrance, rather than strolling down the stairs and announcing I'm on my way to do something purely fun."

"I think the timing's perfect," said Elizabeth. "You need some fun right now. Don't feel guilty that something good is happening to you."

"Noelle said avoidance is bad," Neal argued.

"And so is wallowing," she said. "Don't ignore your sorrow, but don't let it take over your life either. Try to find a balance."

"Here we are," said Peter as he stopped the car at the address Neal had given. Neal had gone by the location previously to check it out, and knew it was a nondescript building in a nondescript block. It was what was inside, who was inside, that made it special. "Nervous?" Peter asked as Neal kept staring at the building from the back seat.

"Yeah," Neal said, too absorbed in his thoughts to dissemble.

Then El shocked him by saying, "I feel like we're dropping our child off for his first sleepover. You're going to be fine, Neal. They like you. They made a point of inviting you to join them. Go enjoy yourself."

Before Neal could respond Peter added, "You aren't alone anymore. You have a support system: me, El, June, Henry and Noelle, even Trent Lombard, and probably your grandparents soon. Not to mention the people who have your back at work. This is what I wanted for you when I asked you to give up crime and join my side. Like El said, enjoy yourself, and trust us to catch you if you fall. That's what we're here for."

Neal stared at him. "Yeah, um…" He was a loner. The idea of all these people Peter mentioned being part of his life was tantalizing and overwhelming. He simply couldn't process it. Instead he turned on his most mischievous grin, and said, "Thanks, Dad." Then he slipped out of the car.

Neal planned to treasure every moment of working with Michael, Ty and Theo tonight. At times during the first half of the evening they asked him to perform portions of Michael's new songs, while they listened and considered tweaks to the melody or lyrics. When Ty was ready to try performing the songs himself, Neal was honored to provide backup.

Neal was good, very good, at music. He knew that. But hearing praise from this group of people was a thrill, even as he accepted that he was a hobbyist. Music would always be part of his life, a joy and an escape, but he wasn't meant to do this for a living.

Hours after he arrived, as Michael and Ty were packing up their things, Theo approached Neal with some paperwork. "Even though this was a trial run, there's a chance that some of what we recorded tonight will make it onto Ty's next album. I need you to sign a release that you're ok with having your performance included if that happens." Neal looked at him in shock. Theo continued, "We'd also pay you. Not a lot, but anything helps, right? And of course we'd list your name in the album credits."

This was entirely unexpected, but gave Neal an idea. "I can use a pseudonym, right?"

"For the credits, sure. To pay you we need a legal name."

"Fine." Neal signed.

Theo looked at the name Neal had used. "You know, there used to be a musician who went by that name. Hey, Ty!"

Ty stopped talking to Michael. "Yeah?"

"You remember a Neal Legend?"

Ty shrugged. "Lyrics I remember, names not so much."

"I remember him," Michael said. "The name anyway. He and his brother performed as the duo Urban Legend. I never met them, and I don't think they ever made an album. But I'd hear about them on the circuit." He paused a moment. "He dropped out of sight a few years back. There were rumors he had died or was dying. I heard a lot of versions of that story, but the most common was that he had brain cancer."

Theo turned back to Neal. "I guess you're ok to use the name. If I get any flak, I might ask you to pick a different pseudonym. You provided your contact info, right?"

Neal nodded. "Cell phone and email address."

"Good. I might give you a call sometime, if you're interested in joining other recording sessions."

"I'd be flattered, but there are a lot of talented people out there," Neal said. "New York is filled with people who want this kind of work."

"Tons of 'em," Theo agreed. "But not many are talented and dependable. Michael says you always showed up when he needed you in St. Louis."

After thanking them once more for letting him join their rehearsal, Neal grabbed his guitar and made his way out before Theo could scan down the remainder of the contract to see that the legal name he'd listed for compensation was a cancer research group.

But he didn't make a clean escape. There were no taxis in sight. Neal had started walking toward the nearest subway station when Michael Darling called out an offer to ride with him. The record company had provided a chauffeur. Fortunately Michael's hotel was the first stop and it wasn't a long ride, but he still had time to ask Neal, "Did you know the members of Urban Legend?"

Neal shrugged. "Misspent youth. I met a lot of people before I settled down in New York."

"I think you said that was about three years ago? That would have been around the same time Neal Legend disappeared. Do you think maybe he was sick of the music business, rather than physically sick?"

"That's unlikely. How many 22-year-olds would give up the music business if they had a choice?"

"Right," was Michael's only response. When Michael got out at his hotel and the driver continued to Riverside Drive, Neal tried calling Henry. But of course Henry was on a sailboat somewhere in the Atlantic and probably out of range of any cell towers. Neal decided against leaving a message, but knew they needed to talk. Henry's plans to trap a corrupt record executive hinged on making the right people believe that Neal Legend had survived. Tonight Neal had contributed toward that plan, but the timing might not have been what Henry wanted.

Understanding the need for secrecy, Neal had never told anyone about Henry's plans to bring down Masterson, but it was a scheme Byron would appreciate, and with his own musical interests he might have suggestions for them to consider. Maybe…

And suddenly Neal's elation was replaced with a wave of sadness that hit him like a physical blow. There would be no more swapping stories with Byron Ellington. The man was gone. Forever.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Monday everything was falling in place for the Highbury and Adler cases. Knowing Neal would be out for the funeral on Tuesday, Peter had focused on the things he needed his consultant to do. They'd decided Thursday would be the best day for Nick Halden to visit Enscombe, and had Neal fill out the forms as Nick to join Highbury and schedule his initiation. Also as Nick, he'd called Seamus Bickerton and agreed to break into the Enscombe master suite safe. He'd assured the lawyer that he already had an "in" to Enscombe and guaranteed he'd get to the safe ahead of the FBI. They even arranged a meet in Boston on Friday, where Nick Halden would personally deliver the contents of the safe to Bickerton.

Depending on what they found in that safe, they might use the meet to arrest and pressure Bickerton into providing information about Adler. Or they might let the man go and keep an eye on him, if they decided he'd be more likely to lead them to Adler if he believed the FBI wasn't on to him.

Shortly thereafter, Bickerton had called Jones to provide the owner's permission to search Enscombe, with the caveat that the owner had reserved certain areas of the estate for his own personal use. If the FBI wanted to search the entire property for evidence against Highbury, they needed to give Vincent Perdue a few days to clear out his personal belongings. They agreed on Thursday as the soonest the Bureau could conduct their search without a warrant.

Things had gone so smoothly that Peter's gut told him they were simply waiting to uncover a bump in the road that would shake up all of their plans. That bump appeared Tuesday morning, when Jones arrived early and brought a stranger up to Peter's office. The stranger looked a little hung over, Peter noticed as the man sat down gingerly. "This is George Knightley," Jones said.

"Your navy buddy," Peter remembered.

"Right. And newest member of Highbury. Yesterday he went to Enscombe for one of their initiation events."

"What happened?" Peter asked.

Finally Knightley spoke. "I wish I could remember. I feel like I really tied one on, but I'm not a heavy drinker, especially when I'm trying to impress people who could help me find a job. After one beer last night I switched to coffee. At first everything seemed normal. I met a lot of people, got some good job leads, and then Frank Churchill invited me into his office. Everything after that is a blank until I was on my way back to Clinton's place in a Highbury town car. I was exhausted, but not concerned about the gap in my memory. Thinking back, it's odd how unconcerned I was about it. When I woke up this morning, I noticed this." He took off his jacket and slid up a sleeve of his shirt to reveal a reddened area near his left shoulder. "I often get an irritation like this after a shot. I'm certain someone drugged me last night."

"We stopped by the FBI medics on our way up here," Jones said. "They drew a blood sample and if there's any of the drug left in his system, the lab will let us know what they find. We might finally have evidence that Highbury drugs their clients for blackmail material. If we can prove they're getting and using a controlled substance without the necessary licenses, we're another step closer to shutting them down."

Peter leaned back and studied the two men sitting across the desk from him. "You're making it sound like this is good news, but I see bad news written all over your face. Spit it out, Jones."

"Remember the night Caffrey met with Kate Moreau, and you asked me to be in the café in case he needed help?"

Before Peter could answer, Tricia opened the door to his office. "It's time for the morning briefing," she reminded them.

"Cut to the chase," Peter told Jones.

"We might need to cancel our op at Enscombe. I think Caffrey has been compromised."

Peter shut his eyes in a moment of frustration. They were so close to getting Highbury and Adler. He hated the possibility of having nothing to show for it. Then he looked up at Tricia. "You lead the briefing today. Then join us in the conference room we've been using for the Highbury investigation. We're going to triage the issues this morning, and provide an updated plan to Hughes before the day's over. Hopefully we can salvage at least part of our work."

A/N: To be continued next week, with a much longer chapter. Thanks again to Silbrith for help with this chapter, especially the parts at the music studio.


End file.
